ARTEMUS    WARD 


BOOKS   BY   DON   C.   SE1TZ 

ARTEMUS   WARD 
WHISTLER   STORIES 
THE    BUCCANEERS 
FARM  VOICES 
DISCOVERIES  IN 

EVERYDAY  EUROPE 
ELBA  AND  ELSEWHERE 
IN  PRAISE   OF  WAR 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  Publishers 

ESTABLISHED    1817 


Artemus  Ward 

(CHARLES  FARRAR  BROWNE) 

A     Biography    and 
Bibliography 


BY 

DON    C.   SEITZ 


AUTHOR  OF 

WHISTLER  STORIES"  "FARM  VOICES ' 
"THE  BUCCANEERS"  ETC. 


With  Illustrations 
and  Facsimiles 


HARPER    y    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 


ARTEMUS  WARD 


Copyright  1919.  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  September,  1919 

I-T 


TO 


FRANK    I.    COBB 


436590 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

FOREWORD xi 

I.  BEGINNINGS       1 

II.  CLEVELAND 18 

III.  BOHEMIAN  DAYS 45 

IV.  NEW  YORK — "VANITY  FAIR" 68 

V.  CALIFORNIA,  NEVADA,  AND  UTAH 128 

VI.  THE  MORMON  LECTURE 163 

VII.  LONDON 184 

VIII.  LETTERS  AND  FRAGMENTS 223 

IX.  "VANITY  FAIR "  ROMANCES  AND  OTHER  CONTRIBUTIONS  239 
BIBLIOGRAPHY    ,  319 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

ARTEMUS  WARD.  (Engraved  by  Samuel  Hollyce)  .  Frontispiece 

THE  ARTEMUS  WARD  HOMESTEAD,  WATERFORD,  MAINE  Facing  p.  4 

THE  VILLAGE  GREEN,  WATERFORD,  MAINE  ...  "  12 

ARTEMUS  WARD  AT  TWENTY '*  is 

ARTEMUS  WARD'S  "  PLAIN  DEALER  "  CHAIR  AND  TABLE  *  *  24 
ARTEMUS  WARD  AND  A.  MINOR  GRISWOLD  AT 

MC!LRATH'S "  62 

No.  647  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK  (where  Pfaff's  "Bo 
hemia"  was  located) "  96 

ARTEMUS  WARD  AS  A  PUBLIC  LECTURER.  (Cartoon 

from  Vanity  Fair,  May  24,  1862) "  120 

ARTEMUS  WARD  THE  LECTURER "  140 

ARTEMUS  WARD.  (From  a  portrait  owned  by  the 

Lotos  Club,  New  York)  "  168 

DANIEL  SETCHELL "  172 

DAN  BRYANT  AS  "PAT  MALLOY" "  174 

FACSIMILE  OF  A.  WARD'S  PROPOSAL  TO  MEMBERSHIP 

IN  THE  SAVAGE  CLUB "  186 

A  GROUP  OF  SAVAGES.  (Frontispiece  of  The  Savage 

Club  Papers  for  1867) "  190 

JAMES  RHOADES '*  212 

BUST  OF  ARTEMUS  WARD  BY  GEFLOWSKI 220 

FACSIMILE  OF  AN  "A.  WARD"  LETTER "  232 

MRS.  CAROLINE  E.  BROWN,  MOTHER  OF  ARTEMUS 

WARD "  234 

FACSIMILE  OF  LETTER  TO  HORACE  PORTER,  APRIL  9, 

1861  "       238 


FOREWORD 

WRITING  of  Artemus  Ward,  in  Scribner's  Monthly 
Magazine  for  November,  1880,  E.  S.  Nadal,  the  essayist, 
expressed  the  wish  that  some  one  would  visit  the 
humorist's  birthplace  at  Waterford,  Maine,  and  look 
into  his  beginnings,  to  account  for  him  by  a  study  of 
the  surroundings  and  his  ancestry.  I  was  a  boy  in  the 
printing-office  at  Norway,  a  town  adjoining  Waterford, 
and  caught  the  idea.  In  company  with  my  father, 
Rev.  J.  A.  Seitz,  I  drove  through  a  tremendous  snow 
storm  to  Waterford,  ten  miles  away,  and  rediscovered 
the  Browns,  to  wit:  Caroline  E.  Farrar  Brown,  his 
mother;  Thaddeus  Brown,  his  uncle;  Waldo  T.  and 
Daniel  Brown,  cousins,  sons  of  Thaddeus.  Between 
us,  my  father  and  I  prepared  an  article,  he  doing 
most  of  the  work,  but  appending  my  name  to  the 
result,  and  sent  it  to  Scribner's.  Two  rival  writers 
had  also  grasped  the  suggestion — C.  A.  Stephens, 
a  friend  and  neighbor  in  Norway,  long  distinguished  as 
an  author  of  cheerful  juvenilia,  and  another,  whose 
name  escapes  me.  Dr.  J.  G.  Holland,  then  editor  of 
Scribner's  (this  was  before  it  became  The  Century) 
bought  these  items  and  forwarded  them  as  "material" 
to  incorporate  with  our  gleanings.  We  went  at  it  again 
and  the  paper  appeared  as  "Artemus  Ward:  His 
Home  and  Family"  in  Scribner's  for  May,  1881. 

Our  printing-office  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  that 
Norway  Advertiser  shop  in  which  Charles  F.  Browne 
had  worked  under  his  brother  Cyrus,  thirty  years 


FOREWORD 

before.  Traditions  still  lingered.  Cyrus  enjoyed  the 
neighborhood  reputation  of  being  the  "smarter"  of  the 
two.  There  were  local  memories  of  strange  pranks 
played  by  intemperate  printers  in  the  grave  little  town, 
when  stirred  by  the  robust  influence  of  New  England 
rum.  Plenty  of  people  were  around  who  recalled  the 
tallow-haired,  sallow-cheeked  boy,  and  his  reckless 
elder  brother. 

This  distant  relationship  had  its  effect  in  continuing 
my  interest  in  A.  W.,  which  was  further  enhanced  by 
the  knowledge  that  when  he  drifted  west  from  Boston, 
as  a  wandering  printer,  Artemus  had  sojourned  for  a 
time  in  Tiffin,  Ohio.  Tiffin  was  the  city  of  my  dreams, 
being  the  seat  of  Seneca  County,  Ohio,  of  which  my 
great-grandfather,  John  Seitz,  was  a  pioneer  and  one  of 
the  organizers.  I  used  to  visit  it  with  my  father  when 
a  very  little  boy  in  the  late  'sixties.  He  was  pastor 
of  the  Universalist  Church  at  Attica,  one  of  the  Seneca 
County  towns,  and  had  been  born  in  Melmore,  an 
other.  The  first  printing-office  I  ever  smelled  was  that 
of  the  Tiffin  Tribune,  owned  by  Locke  &  Brother. 
They  were  brothers  of  David  Ross  Locke,  "Petroleum 
V.  Nasby,"  of  humorous  fame,  and  had  also  been 
neighbors  of  my  father  in  his  youth,  when  the  senior 
Locke  owned  a  farm  near  that  tilled  by  his  own  people. 
The  print-shop  into  which  Artemus  had  fallen  was  that 
of  the  Seneca  Advertiser,  still  existing.  Furthermore, 
the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer,  in  whose  office  the  wan 
derer  first  found  fame,  was  a  household  word  in  our 
part  of  Ohio.  It  seems  strange  that  'way  down  in 
Maine  it  should  have  been  my  fortune  to  bring  together 
these  incidental  contactr. 


FOREWORD 

The  plan  of  writing  a  life  of  the  genial  showman  had 
long  been  in  mind.  The  delay  in  getting  it  under 
way  was  due  to  the  hope  of  securing  several  hundred 
letters,  written  to  Charles  A.  Shaw,  of  Boston,  who  told 
me  they  contained  much  that  was  funnier  than  any 
thing  ever  printed  from  the  pen  of  A.  W.  He  said  he 
had  given  them  to  Mrs.  Shaw,  who  cherished  the  idea 
of  making  a  book  out  of  the  material,  and  he  would 
have  to  await  her  pleasure.  He  died  in  1908.  Mrs. 
Shaw  survived  until  1916,  but  after  her  death,  though 
most  diligently  sought,  no  trace  of  the  letters  could 
be  found. 

I  write,  therefore,  belatedly  and  to  a  new  generation, 
more  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  the  annals  of  Amer 
ican  literature  than  of  reaching  a  wide  circle,  and  of 
giving  to  present-day  readers  some  record  of  the  life 
and  personality  of  the  gentle  jester  at  whose  out 
pourings  their  fathers  and  grandfathers  laughed  so 
uproariously. 

Grateful  acknowledgment  is  made  for  valuable 
assistance  to  Charles  II.  Taylor,  Jr.,  of  the  Boston 
Globe;  E.  H.  Baker  and  Miss  Georgia  L.  Andrews,  of 
the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer;  Viscount  Northcliffe,  of 
the  London  Times;  Dr.  John  W.  Cummin,  of  Boston, 
Massachusetts;  R.  B.  Wall,  of  New  London,  Connec 
ticut;  Mrs.  Florence  Brown  Rounds,  of  Waterforcl, 
Maine,  and  Miss  Alice  Flynn,  my  painstaking  secretary. 

D.  C.  S. 

Cos  COB,  June  2,  1919. 


ARTEMUS    WARD 


ARTEMUS   WARD 


BEGINNINGS 

/CHARLES  FARRAR  BROWNE,  better  known  to 
^-/  the  world  as  "Artemus  Ward,"  was  born  in 
Waterford,  Oxford  County,  Maine,  April  26,  1834. 
His  father,  Levi  Brown,  was  the  son  of  a  settler,, 
Thaddeus  Brown,  who  came  to  the  town  from  Har 
vard,  Massachusetts,  in  1786,  and  Mary  Pollard,  his 
wife.  Levi  Brown  married  Caroline  Eliza  Farrar, 
daughter  of  Calvin  Farrar  and  Bathsheba  Bates.  The 
Farrars  migrated  to  Waterford  from  Guildhall,  Ver 
mont.  Both  Levi  Brown  and  his  wife  were  natives  of 
Waterford,  and  their  lineage  was  of  the  clearest  New 
England  line.  Levi  Brown  was  born  October  10, 1796; 
Caroline  Eliza  Farrar,  October  3,  1806.  He  died  in 
Waterford,  December  23,  1847.  She  survived  until 
July  12,  1884. 

The  families  of  the  Waterford  pioneers  were  all 
large,  but  the  crop  was  not  repeated  in  the  later  genera 
tions.  Levi  Brown  had  eight  brothers  and  sisters — 
Daniel,  Malbory,  Jabez,  Susan,  Thaddeus,  Mary, 
Mercy,  and  Sarah.  There  were  six  Farrars,  besides 
Caroline,  all  younger — Nancy,  Maria,  Luther,  Calvin, 
Mercy,  and  David.  Many  collateral  Browns  and 
Farrars  are  living,  but  the  two  sons  of  Levi,  Cyrus  W., 
2  [1] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

born  March  6,  1827,  and  Charles  F.,  never  married. 
Two  other  children,  both  daughters,  Maria  A.  and 
Ellen  F.,  died  young,  the  first  named  on  February  24, 
1833,  aged  four  years  and  four  months;  the  last, 
March  4,  1833,  aged  one  year  and  seven  months.  The 
Farrars  were  persons  of  distinction  in  the  town  and 
state.  Luther  and  the  younger  Calvin,  were  both 
colonels  of  militia,  and  the  latter  established  a  water- 
cure  in  Waterford  that  thrived  long  after  his  day 
under  the  guidance  of  an  eminent  physician,  Dr. 
William  P.  Shattuck.  Levi  Brown's  brother,  Mal- 
bory,  was  a  captain  of  militia,  and  Levi  himself  became 
a  lieutenant  and  major  in  the  state  service,  during  the 
thirties,  when  the  "training  days"  called  every  able- 
bodied  citizen  to  the  colors.  Waterford  teemed  with 
memories  of  war.  Levi's  grandfather,  Jabez  Brown, 
had  been  a  lieutenant  in  the  French  and  Indian  war 
and  an  adjutant  in  the  Revolution,  in  which  his 
father,  Thaddeus  Brown,  also  served,  as  had  most  of 
the  other  pioneers.  A  Waterford  company  formed 
part  of  the  garrison  at  Portland  in  the  second  clash 
with  Great  Britain.  Caleb  Strong,  the  Governor  of 
Massachusetts,  of  which  Maine  was  then  a  part,  would 
not  permit  the  militia  to  serve  outside  its  borders,  so 
there  was  small  chance  for  fame.  The  company  re 
ceived  the  rather  doubtful  commendation  from  the 
commanding  officer  at  Portland,  where  it  was  stationed, 
that  its  members  "stole  less"  than  any  of  the  others! 
Levi  Brown  appears  to  have  been  a  trusted  citizen 
of  the  town.  He  was,  in  his  younger  days,  town  con 
stable,  when  it  befell  him  to  arrest  some  members  of  a 
newly  formed  Universalist  church,  who  refused  to  pay 

12] 


BEGINNINGS 

a  state  tax  in  support  of  Congregationalism.  He  es 
corted  them  to  the  jail  at  Paris  Hill,  the  shire  town  of 
the  county,  where,  on  the  advice  of  counsel,  they  set 
tled,  but  later  sued  the  selectmen  and  enforced  a  re 
turn  of  the  money.  This  separation  of  Church  and 
state  occurred  in  1822.  The  minister  whom  these 
village  Hampdens  refused  to  aid  was  the  Rev.  John  A. 
Douglas,  who  had  the  distinguished  record  of  holding 
his  single  pastorate  in  Waterford  from  1821  to  1878. 
The  salary  to  which  they  declined  to  contribute  was 
$400  per  year!  Further  than  this,  Mr.  Brown  served 
as  town  clerk,  selectman,  and  as  a  member  of  the 
state  legislature.  By  profession  he  was  a  civil  en 
gineer,  and,  besides  surveying,  "kept  store"  and 
"farmed." 

It  would  be  interesting  to  compile  a  gazeteer  of  the 
great  and  so  note  the  amazing  contributions  of  eminence 
made  by  obscure  hamlets,  far  off  the  trail  on  which  life 
runs  rapidly.  Waterford  gave  freely.  Hannibal  Ham- 
lin,  Vice-President  with  Lincoln,  missed  it  as  a  birth 
place,  but  was  named  after  his  Waterford  uncle,  high 
sheriff  of  the  county,  father  of  Dr.  Cyrus  Hamlin,  the 
founder  of  Roberts  College,  in  Constantinople,  who 
was  born  in  the  town;  so  was  Elbridge  Gerry,  Congress 
man  and  eminent  attorney  of  Portland.  The  Warrens 
sent  out  some  able  sons,  as  did  the  Waterford  Hales, 
Cilleys,  Athertons,  Chaplins,  Houghtons,  Coolidges, 
Davenports,  and  Haskins.  The  latter  were  kinsfolk  of 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  who  often  visited  their  seat  at 
Elm  Vale  Farm,  in  South  Waterford,  across  the  way 
from  the  cemetery  of  that  name  where  Artemus  Ward 
lies  buried. 

[3] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

But  of  all  the  fine  company,  the  subject  of  this 
memoir  reached  farthest  into  fame.  The  house  known 
as  Artemus  Ward's  home  still  stands  in  Waterford, 
facing  the  village  green,  of  which  he  wrote  so  lovingly  in 
after  years,  the  property  of  Mrs.  Louis  J.  Higginson, 
of  Boston,  who  inherited  it  from  her  mother,  Mrs.  C.  J. 
F.  Eastman.  Mrs.  Eastman  was  Mercy  Farrar,  the 
last  survivor  of  Mrs.  Brown's  family.  She  was  born 
in  1816,  ten  years  later  than  Mrs.  Brown,  and  lived 
until  1896.  Artemus  was  not  born  here,  but  on  a  farm 
at  the  edge  of  the  village,  owned  by  his  father.  This, 
however,  was  disposed  of  soon  after  his  birth  and  the 
family  removed  to  the  Farrar  mansion,  built  by  Calvin 
Farrar  in  1805,  where  Mrs.  Brown  was  born.  The 
original  Brown  homestead  was  burned  in  1870. 

The  Farrar  mansion  is  an  excellent  example  of  early 
nineteenth-century  New  England  architecture,  beau 
tifully  situated  on  the  main  street.  Before  it  the  steep 
cliff  of  Mt.  Tir'em  rises  abruptly,  and  behind  spread 
the  shining  waters  of  Tom  Pond,  named  for  Thomas 
Chamberlain,  the  Leather-stocking  of  the  east,  who 
killed  Chief  Paugus  in  Love  well's  famous  fight.  The 
road  by  which  it  lies  was  once  the  Scoggin  or  Pequawket 
trail,  over  which  the  red  warriors  made  their  way  be 
tween  the  Saco  intervales  and  the  St.  Lawrence,  avoid 
ing  the  shorter  route  through  Crawford's  Notch,  to  the 
westward,  for  fear  of  demons  lodged  in  its  rocky  walls. 
The  mountain  gained  its  name  from  the  grunting 
Sokokis.  "Tir'em  Injun"  was  the  phrase  that  stuck 
to  it  and  became  its  geographical  designation. 

The  town  is  bountifully  watered  by  many  ponds  and 
streams.  The  Waterford  Kezars  at  the  base  of  the 

[4] 


BEGINNINGS 

Bear  Mountain  range  link  up  with  Long  Lake  at  Har 
rison,  which  affords  a  water  route  to  Sebago  through  the 
sinuous  Songo,  and  in  the  thirties  and  forties — and, 
indeed,  until  the  building  of  the  Portland  &  Ogdens- 
burg  Railroad  in  1870 — connected  by  canal  from 
Sebago  to  the  sea. 

Stages  on  the  route  via  Albany,  Bethel,  and  Gorham 
between  Portland,  Quebec,  and  Montreal  rattled  daily 
through  the  single  street,  loaded  with  travelers.  It  was 
a  pleasant  place  for  a  lad,  even  though  not  more  than 
two  hundred  people  lived  in  or  near  it.  Waterford 
included  about  fifty  square  miles  of  territory,  mainly 
lake  and  hill,  with  here  and  there  fertile  slopes  on 
which  good  crops  were  grown.  Timber  was  the  chief 
asset  and  numbers  of  sawmills  were  in  constant  opera 
tion,  cutting  up  the  primeval  growths.  There  were 
four  centers  of  life  in  its  limits,  North,  South,  East 
Waterford,  and  the  "Flat,"  as  Waterford  proper  is 
known.  The  "town  house"  was  and  remains  at  the 
Flat.  There  were  other  neighborhoods,  like  Sodom, 
over  on  the  Crooked  River,  inhabited  by  poor  whites, 
where  respectable  folks  did  not  go,  and  Me  Wain  Hill, 
looking  across  the  lakes,  where  a  grim  old  pioneer, 
David  Me  Wain,  had  swung  the  first  ax  in  1775.  He 
had  an  eight-hundred-acre  Colonist  allotment,  bought 
for  forty  dollars,  and  lived  a  bachelor's  life  in  baronial 
style  for  fifty  years.  The  Indians  were  his  friends  in 
the  early  days,  but  stole  his  loose  change;  not  needing 
money,  he  bored  a  hole  in  a  tree  trunk  and  plugged 
some  fifty  dollars  in  silver  into  the  orifice.  Nearly  half 
a  century  later  a  woodman  felled  the  tree  and  the  saw 
at  Pride's  Mill  struck  the  hoard.  Me  Wain  was  sent 

[5] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

for  and  sat  a  long  time  jingling  the  coins  in  his  hands 
until  his  memory  reached  back  to  the  incident  and  the 
establishment  of  this  strange  bank.  He  raised  fine 
cattle  and  disliked  women  and  neighbors.  The  sight 
of  the  smoke  from  a  settler's  cabin  in  Paris,  twelve 
miles  away,  drew  from  him  a  cross  remark  about 
getting  crowded. 

So  purely  New  England  was  the  community  that  it 
bred  plentiful  whimsies,  many  of  which  cropped  out  in 
the  writings  of  the  humorist,  and  to  a  degree  account 
for  him.  Old  inhabitants  recall  small  escapades,  such 
as  can  be  told  about  mischievous  boys  in  most  country 
villages,  for  example: 

Cyrus,  his  elder  brother,  was  an  orator  of  no  small 
ability  and  frequently  participated  in  political  meetings, 
taking  the  Democratic  side  in  the  discussions  of  the  day. 
Returning  from  a  meeting  one  night,  he  locked  his 
brother,  who  had  been  on  a  lark  to  South  Waterford, 
out  of  the  house.  It  was  bitter  cold.  A  rattle  of 
pebbles  on  the  window,  accompanied  by  calls  of, 
"Ho,  Cy!"  brought  his  shivering  figure  into  the  open. 
His  brother  below  dazed  him  with  this  cheerful  query : 

"Say,  Cy,  do  you  think  it  is  right  to  keep  slaves?" 

He  led  in  getting  up  shows  after  the  traveling  circus 
had  passed  and  spoke  pieces  in  the  red  school-house, 
outdoing  the  sniffling,  bashful  lads  of  his  class.  The 
red  school-house  was  not  a  popular  place  with  the  boys, 
least  of  all  with  the  small  Charley.  Wanting  a  day 
off,  with  the  help  of  his  fellows  he  collected  all  the  hens 
in  the  village  on  a  Sunday  night  and  locked  them  in 
the  building.  It  took  two  days  to  restore  cleanliness — 
two  days  of  respite  and  delight  for  the  scamps. 

[6] 


BEGINNINGS 

It  would  but  dull  the  chronicle  to  relate  much  of  the 
idle  memories  of  his  early  days,  of  which  there  are  a 
considerable  store,  although  his  life  in  the  town  was 
very  brief.  When  but  thirteen  years  old  his  father's 
death  made  a  change  in  the  family  fortunes.  There 
was*little  left  but  the  homestead,  and  it  became  neces 
sary  for  the  boy  to  make  a  start  out  into  the  world 
where  his  brother  Cyrus  had  already  gone.  They 
began  young  then.  Cyrus  had  taken  up  the  printers' 
art  and  Charles's  ambitions  led  in  the  same  direction. 

The  stage-line  passing  his  mother's  door  ran  to 
Lancaster,  in  Coos  County,  New  Hampshire,  and  the 
lad,  with  a  reputation  for  prankishness  already  well 
established,  was  shipped  by  coach  to  that  town,  where 
he  engaged  with  John  M.  Rix,  publisher  of  the  Weekly 
Democrat,  to  learn  the  trade.  Stephen  J.  Seavey, 
driver  of  the  stage,  was  a  bit  of  a  joker  himself  and, 
knowing  the  boy  well,  prepared  him  for  his  reception  in 
Lancaster  by  advising  that  Mr.  Rix  was  very  pious 
and  that  his  best  passport  to  success  lay  in  knowing 
his  catechism.  Unhappily,  this  phase  of  his  education 
had  been  neglected.  His  father  was  a  liberal-minded 
Congregation alist;  his  mother  much  of  a  free-thinker. 
He  reached  Lancaster  late  at  night  and  found  the 
journeyman  and  two  apprentices,  Edward  Cross  and  a 
brother,  at  the  office,  primed  for  his  examination  in 
religious  ethics.  He  was  made  to  read  a  chapter  out 
of  the  Bible,  then  severely  examined  in  catechism, 
at  which  he  lamentably  failed,  and  given  lugubriously 
to  understand  that  his  chances  on  earth  as  well  as  in 
heaven  were  poor.  He  went  to  work  in  the  morn 
ing  with  much  misgiving.  At  noon  the  performance 

[7] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

was  repeated,  and  the  rest  of  the  day  seemed  saturated 
with  gloom.  Coming  to  the  office  the  next  morning 
fully  resolved  to  run  away  at  the  end  of  the  week,  he 
found  his  pious  fellow-workers  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
inebriated  under  the  back  stairs.  It  appears  that  the 
printing-office  was  located  over  a  store-room  filled 
with  barrels  of  rum,  stacked  to  the  ceiling.  Some 
time  before,  the  force  had  drilled  through  the  floor 
into  one  of  the  barrels  with  an  auger  and  induced  the 
local  tinsmith,  Perry  Pollard,  who  shared  the  spoil, 
to  make  a  long,  thin  tube  through  which  the  rum  could 
be  elevated  by  suction  to  the  lips  of  the  partaker. 
This  was  the  source  of  their  intoxication.  Disillu 
sioned,  the  boy  wrote  a  letter  to  the  stage-driver, 
threatening  dire  vengeance,  which  was  never  carried 
out.  He  lived  with  Mr.  Rix,  and  the  family  influence 
was  of  some  value  in  keeping  him  level.  His  gawky 
appearance  made  him  rather  unwelcome  at  the  home; 
his  thinness  suggested  an  insatiable  appetite.  Mar 
garet  Moylan,  the  cook,  remarked,  "I  guess  we've  got 
a  queer  kind  of  critter  this  time,  but  I  bet  he  can  eat." 
She  had  seen  numerous  'prentices  come  and  go  and  was 
skeptical  of  all  of  the  breed.  Eliza  Rix,  the  fifteen- 
year-old  daughter  of  the  house,  asked  Margaret  how 
she  intended  feeding  the  new  arrival.  "We'll  fill  him 
up  with  green  apples,"  was  the  tart  response. 

The  boy  was  sent  about  the  country  in  a  yellow  two- 
wheeled  chaise  to  collect  dues  from  the  farmers,  taking 
cash  and  produce,  as  came  handy.  Eliza  often  went 
along  to  see  that  he  showed  diligence,  a  quality  always 
lacking  in  his  make-up.  "He  would  rather  talk  to  the 
people  and  tell  stories,"  she  said  in  after-years,  "than 

[8] 


BEGINNINGS 

ask  them  for  money."  The  two  Cross  brothers 
were  pretty  wild  and  the  tube  into  the  rum-barrel  bred 
a  deal  of  mischief.  In  time  the  escapades  of  the  boys 
became  too  much  for  the  patience  of  Mr.  Rix.  They 
grew  so  unruly  that  a  cleaning  out  had  to  take  place, 
preceded  by  a  last  day  of  disorder,  in  which  forms  were 
"pied"  and  the  shop  made  useless  for  a  week.  Charles 
had  been  in  Lancaster  nearly  a  year  when  the  break-up 
occurred.  He  went  home  under  a  cloud,  to  the  dismay 
of  his  mother.  She  wrote  an  anxious  letter  to  Mr. 
Rix,  inquiring  into  the  moral  status  of  her  son,  who 
had  returned  with  a  tale  that  he  needed  more  education 
to  succeed  as  a  printer  and  wanted  to  go  to  school. 
Mr.  Rix,  though  provoked  with  the  boy,  bade  him  a 
kindly  farewell,  gave  him  a  dollar  to  speed  him  on  his 
way,  and  shielded  him  from  the  just  parental  wrath. 

Yet  the  ne'er-do-wells  did  not  turn  out  so  badly, 
after  all.  Edward  Cross  became  a  very  gallant  colonel 
of  the  First  New  Hampshire  Regiment  in  the  Civil 
War,  and  poor  Perry  Pollard,  the  tinsmith,  gave  up 
his  life  at  Gettysburg. 

It  chanced  that  an  opportunity  for  more  schooling 
with  work  at  the  trade  was  ready  at  hand.  Norway, 
the  next  town  to  the  east  from  Waterford,  rejoiced  in 
the  possession  of  a  neat  little  six-column,  four-page 
newspaper,  the  Norway  Advertiser,  which  had  been 
founded  in  1844  by  Ira  Berry  and  Francis  Blake,  Jr., 
names  long  and  well  known  in  Maine.  After  a  year 
the  partners  disposed  of  the  sheet  to  Albert  B.  Plum- 
mer,  who  in  turn  sold  it  to  Thomas  Witt.  He  made 
it  pay,  but  late  in  1849  transferred  the  property  to 
Francis  H.  Whitman,  a  native  of  Norway  and  a  cousin 

[9] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

of  the  Browns,  who  had  a  lively  fancy  and  much  en 
terprise.  He  acted  for  Cyrus  W.  Brown  and  Albert 
Bradley  Davis,  who  made  a  place  for  the  lad. 

Norway  was  a  vigorous  village  when  this  change 
occurred.  The  new  Atlantic  &  St.  Lawrence  Railroad, 
now  the  Grand  Trunk,  built  to  connect  Portland  and 
Montreal,  reached  South  Paris,  a  mile  away,  January 
1,  1850,  and  put  Norway  in  touch  with  the  world. 
The  town  was  the  metropolis  for  the  back  districts  of 
Waterford,  Albany,  and  Stoneham,  and  numbers  of 
industries  flourished,  including  a  paper-mill.  There 
was  a  good  school,  the  Norway  Liberal  Institute,  quite 
worthy  of  its  somewhat  ponderous  name,  at  which 
Charles  planned  to  extend  his  scanty  education  under 
easier  working  conditions  than  were  possible  at  Lan 
caster.  He  lodged  in  a  shabby  room  back  of  the 
printing-office,  where  a  rickety  bedstead,  with  a  torn 
straw  mattress,  a  table,  and  a  three-legged  cook-stove 
with  a  brick  in  place  of  the  missing  fourth,  were  the 
chief  furnishings.  There  was  another  room  inhabited 
by  the  stray  printers  who  drifted  in  one  by  one  to 
take  a  turn  as  journeyman  in  the  shop  and  whose 
worldly  experience  went  far  to  sophisticate  the  boy. 
He  does  not  seem  to  have  worked  much  in  the  classes, 
but  took  active  part  in  school  affairs,  including  the 
lyceum  debates,  a  great  source  of  delight  at  the  institute, 
contributed  to  the  manuscript  paper  read  at  the 
meetings,  somewhat  loftily  named  the  "Carpathian 
Rill,"  and  played  amateur  drama  as  a  member  of  the 
Thespian  Society.  He  usually  occupied  one  of  the 
three  splint-bottom  chairs  on  the  platform  reserved 
for  the  president  of  the  lyceum,  the  principal,  or  im- 


BEGINNINGS 

portant  visitors,  and  was  the  only  non-grown-up  to 
enjoy  this  high  estate,  probably  because  of  his  journal 
istic  connections.  He  would  tilt  the  chair  back  against 
the  wall,  cross  his  legs,  with  his  boots  much  in  evidence, 
and  loll  in  this  attitude  until  his  turn  came  in  the  dis 
cussion,  when  he  easily  took  the  lead  in  skill  and  wit 
as  a  debater.  The  drawl  that  gave  charm  to  his  speech 
was  already  there,  and  his  cleverness  drew  large  au 
diences  to  the  school  hall,  the  town  always  turning  out 
when  it  knew  that  "Charley"  was  to  talk. 

He  was  abnormally  tall  for  his  age  and  mature  in 
mind,  though  weak  in  body,  as  the  result  of  too  rapid 
growth,  which  made  him  languid.  Time  went  pleas 
antly  with  him  in  the  office.  He  set  type,  loafed  a 
good  deal,  wrote  items,  and  led  the  general  mixed  life 
of  the  devil  in  a  country  printery. 

The  paper  had  a  nominal  circulation  of  one  thousand, 
but  Brown  and  Davis  were  not  good  managers  and 
both  were  unduly  convivial,  with  the  result  that  by  the 
summer  of  1850  the  paper  was  on  its  last  legs.  The 
firm  dissolved  and  left  the  property  and  its  liabilities 
to  Mr.  Whitman.  Brown  had  something  of  a  career, 
editing  the  New  Bedford  Standard  from  1850  to  1.856, 
and  later  the  Fall  River  News.  Davis  wandered  South 
and,  reversing  his  name,  as  Davis  Bradley,  became  a 
theatrical  manager  of  note  in  New  Orleans. 

The  principal  of  the  Liberal  Institute,  Mark  H. 
Dunnell,  had  political  ambitions.  He  had  been  a  Whig 
candidate  for  the  legislature,  opposed  by  the  Demo 
cratic  Advertiser,  wherein  the  future  humorist  had 
burlesqued  his  first  speech  given  at  Denison  Hall. 
To  him  Mr.  Whitman  turned  as  a  likely  salvor  for  the 

[ii] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

derelict.  In  after-years  Mr.  Dunnell  confessed  that  he 
could  never  fully  understand  how  he  had  been  be 
guiled  into  taking  it  over.  But  take  it  he  did,  and  with 
it  the  idle  apprentice.  A  dress  of  type,  the  first  folly 
of  all  new  editors,  was  procured  and  the  name  of  the 
paper  changed  to  the  Pine  State  News.  A  very  ornate 
head-line  proclaimed  this  title,  and  the  new  dress  made 
a  handsome  paper.  But  the  shift  in  its  political  color 
was  too  great,  coming  on  top  of  previous  troubles,  to 
permit  success.  Mr.  Whitman,  who  in  time  became 
my  own  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,  once  said  that 
people  lacking  reverence  in  their  compositions  called 
it  the  "Pitch-Knot."  Mr.  Dunnell's  own  account  of 
its  coming  into  and  departure  from  this  life,  written 
for  the  Norway  Advertiser  of  fifty  years  after,  follows: 
"It  was  not  long  before  I  discovered  that  it  took 
some  money  to  run  a  newspaper.  That  had  hardly 
occurred  to  me  before  the  purchase.  The  paper,  the 
ink,  and  the  help  had  to  be  paid  for  each  week.  It  was 
but  a  very  short  time  before  I  discovered  that  I  had  an 
elepbant  on  my  hands,  and  a  very  costly  elephant.  .  .  . 
In  November  I  brought  my  young  wife  to  town;  we 
went  to  housekeeping  and  in  a  few  days  took  our  first 
boarder  in  the  person  of  Charles  F.  Browne,  who  be 
came  the  famous  Artemus  Ward.  He  was  the  younger 
brother  of  the  late  editor,  Cyrus  Brown.  Charles  was 
the  encumbrance  of  the  office  when  bought.  He  had 
to  be  retained.  He  was  what  your  editors  call  the 
devil.  Matters  still  grew  worse.  In  December  we 
took  into  our  home  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elias  Thomas,  of 
Portland,  as  type-setters.  They  proved  in  the  end, 
and  very  soon,  the  straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back, 

[12] 


BEGINNINGS 

for  one  night — late  at  night — Thomas  was  brought 
home  very  drunk.  I  have  always  thought  that  young 
Browne  managed  for  the  outcome.  He  was  in  high 
glee  when  the  end  came." 

The  next  morning,  "in  supreme  disgust  and  most 
unseemly  rage,"  Mr.  Dunnell  drove  the  employees  out 
of  the  office,  locked  the  doors,  and  turned  the  keys 
over  to  his  creditors.  His  venture  had  lasted  seven 
teen  lively  weeks.  Mr.  Whitman  said  the  verdict  was, 
"Died  drunk." 

Mr.  Dunnell  continued  to  figure  in  Maine  affairs  and 
at  the  outbreak  of  the  war  became  colonel  of  the 
Fifth  Maine  Regiment.  Military  command  was  not 
to  his  taste.  After  an  exciting  experience  at  Bull  Run 
he  resigned  and,  removing  to  Minnesota,  became  a 
member  of  Congress,  representing  the  First  District 
from  1871  to  1883.  After  some  years  of  retirement  he 
re-entered  politics  and  served  in  the  Fifty-first  Congress 
from  1889  to  1891.  He  flashed  into  fame  briefly  during 
the  excitement  of  the  "back-pay"  grab  in  Congress  by 
telegraphing  his  foreman  to  resume  hauling  sand  for 
the  construction  of  a  residence  which  had  been  sus 
pended,  pending  the  success  of  the  bill.  President 
Grant  vetoed  the  measure  and  there  was  much  laughing 
at  the  Congressman  both  in  Minnesota  and  among  the 
ribald  Norwegians  in  Maine.  He  died  at  Owatonna, 
Minnesota,  August  9,  1904. 

The  end  of  the  Pine  State  News,  led  to  the  seeking  of 
other  employment  by  the  "devil."  He  went  first  to 
Augusta,  then,  as  now,  a  printing-center,  and  thence  on 
to  Skowhegan,  where  he  found  work  in  the  office  of  the 
Skowhegan  Clarion,  published  by  Moses  Littlefield. 

[13] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

This  place  soon  proved  little  to  his  liking.  After  a 
brief  bondage  he  escaped  with  the  help  of  a  bed-cord 
from  the  upper  window  of  his  lodging  and  made  for 
home,  down  the  Kennebec  to  Gardiner,  where  he  raised 
change  enough  to  reach  Waterford  and  astonish  his 
mother  by  tmrning  up  unannounced. 

Skowhegan  always  lived  ironically  in  his  mind. 
Dr.  E.  P.  Kingston,  in  his  Reminiscences  of  the  Genial 
Showman,  recalls  his  asking  an  acquaintance  if  he  was 
familiar  with  American  newspapers.  He  replied  that 
he  was.  Artemus  wistfully  asked  if  the  Skowhegan 
Clarion  was  among  the  number.  On  getting  a  negative 
answer  he  upspake,  pityingly:  "I  am  sorry  for  you 
if  you  do  not  read  the  Skowhegan  Clarion.  It  is  your 
duty  to  read  it.  There  is  no  paper  like  it  in  the 
States — nor  anywhere  else." 

The  Clarion  was  founded  in  1841,  and  existed  as  such 
until  April  10,  1868,  when  its  name  was  changed  to 
the  Somerset  Reporter,  now  the  Skowhegan  Independent 
Reporter,  which  likes  to  remember  that  A.  W.  worked 
in  the  shop  of  its  parent.  He  slapped  Skowhegan 
often,  once  amusingly  in  a  skit,  giving  the  dialogue  of  a 
group  of  well-dressed  men  around  an  Oregon  bar,  in 
a  state  of  strong  drink,  boasting  of  the  states  of  their 
nativity: 

"I,"  said  one,  "was  born  in  Mississippi,  where  the 
sun  ever  shines  and  the  magnolias  bloom  all  the  happy 
year  round." 

"And  I,"  said  another,  "was  born  in  Kentucky — 
Kentucky,  the  home  of  impassioned  oratory;  the  home 
of  Clay;  the  state  of  splendid  women,  of  gallant  men!" 

"And  I,"  said  another,  "was  born  in  Virginia,  the 

[14] 


BEGINNINGS 

home  of  Washington;  the  birthplace  of  statesmen; 
the  state  of  chivalrous  deeds  and  noble  hospitality." 

"And  I,"  said  a  yellow-haired  and  sallow-faced  man, 
who  was  not  of  the  party  at  all,  and  who  had  been 
quietly  smoking  a  short  black  pipe  by  the  fire  during 
their  magnificent  conversation — "and  I  was  born  in 
the  garden  spot  of  America." 

"Where  is  that?"  they  said. 

"Skowhegan,  Maine,"  he  replied.  "Kin  I  sell  you 
a  razor-strop!" 

He  was  now  man-size,  seventeen,  and  a  citizen  of  the 
world,  who  could  not  afford  to  remain  idle.  Re- 
employment  was  sought  on  the  Democrat  at  Lancaster. 
There  was  no  vacancy,  but  Mr.  Rix  gave  him  a  letter 
to  Messrs.  George  H.  Snow  and  Samuel  W.  Wilder  in 
Boston,  publishers  of  the  Pathfinder,  who  maintained  a 
large  printing-establishment,  issuing  for  one  item  the 
Carpet  Bag,  a  medium  through  which  Benjamin 
Penhallow  Shillaber  conveyed  "Mrs.  Partington's  " 
sayings  to  the  public.  It  happened  opportunely  that 
his  uncle,  Calvin  Farrar,  desiring  to  publish  a  booklet 
advertising  his  water-cure  at  Waterford,  accompanied 
the  boy  to  Boston,  and  took  his  copy  and  bis  nephew 
to  the  printing-office.  The  job  procured  one  for 
"Charley,"  as  he  became  known  in  the  shop,  and 
here  he  remained  three  years,  setting  rhymes  written 
by  John  Godfrey  Saxe,  Charles  Graham  Halpine,  and 
other  wits  of  the  day.  Their  copy  stirred  him.  He 
then  wrote  his  first  real  contribution  to  a  publication 
of  standing,  an  account  of  a  Fourth-of-July  celebration 
at  Waterford  long  before,  which  survived  in  village 
tradition.  This  he  slipped  anonymously  into  Shil- 

[15] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

laber's  mail.  It  was  printed.  He  celebrated  its  pub 
lication  by  going  to  the  theater  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  it  appeared.  "Had  a  good  time  of  it,"  he  said 
afterward,  "and  thought  I  was  the  greatest  man  in 
Boston."  The  contribution  appears  in  His  Book  as 
"The  Surrender  of  Cornwallis." 

John  Townsend  Trowbridge,  once  a  member  of  the 
Carpet  Bag  staff,  in  My  Own  Story  recalls  him  as  "a 
sandy-haired,  thin-featured  youth,  with  a  long  nose 
and  pale  complexion,"  and  dates  his  appearance  in  the 
office  as  in  1851,  when  he  had  passed  his  seventeenth 
birthday,  and,  according  to  Trowbridge,  "before  he  was 
much  older  began  to  write  mildly  funny  things  for  the 
paper  over  the  signature  *  Lieutenant  Chubb.'  He 
probably  chose  the  pseudonym  *  Chubb '  for  the  reason 
that  he  himself  was  lank.  .  .  .  His  serious  countenance 
veiled  a  spirit  of  original  and  audacious  waggery; 
and  he  was  even  then  known  to  be  capable  of  the  same 
conscientious  painstaking  in  the  accomplishment  of  a 
solemn  act  of  drollery  as  when,  a  few  years  after,  while 
on  a  lecturing  tour  in  midwinter,  occupying  with  a 
friend  a  room  of  arctic  temperature,  he  got  out  of  bed 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  hang  before  a  wind- 
shaken  sash  a  'skeleton'  hoopskirt  he  had  found  in 
a  closet,  remarking,  shiveringly,  'It  will  keep  out  the 
c-o-oarsest  of  the  c-o-old'!" 

Mr.  Trowbridge  thought  the  Skowhegan  Clarion  was 
a  jesting  creation  of  the  young  printer's,  and  asserts 
incorrectly  that  he  followed  his  trade  in  the  office  of  a 
paper  "less  grotesquely  named." 

The  printer  became  friendly  with  Shillaber,  and 
when  the  latter,  after  the  death  of  the  Carpet  Bag, 

[16] 


BEGINNINGS 

edited  the  old  Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette, 
Artemus  sent  him  from  Cleveland  one  of  his  choicest 
bits  of  writing,  "Affairs  Round  the  Village  Green." 
It  is  to  be  found  in  His  Travels.  He  had  no  copy  and 
visited  the  office  of  the  Gazette  in  1865  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  a  transcript.  Charles  Barron,  the  actor, 
kept  him  company  when  the  call  was  made.  He  was 
offered  the  loan  of  the  file,  but  replied,  "Nay,  nay, 
Pauline — too  much  work,"  and  engaged  an  office-boy 
to  do  the  copying,  remarking,  when  the  job  was  done, 
that  it  was  not  copperplate,  but,  like  Mercutio's 
wound,  'twould  serve. 


II 

CLEVELAND 

printers  of  the  middle  'fifties  were  an  ad- 
venturous  race,  with  a  contempt  for  employment 
and  employers  that  was  almost  magnificent.  This 
led  to  the  easy  thro  wing-up  of  "sits"  and  much  wander 
ing.  The  West  was  calling  loudly  and,  after  his  three 
years  with  Snow  &  Wilder,  the  youngster,  then  a  full- 
fledged  "jour.,"  yielded  to  the  wanderlust  and  headed 
from  Boston  for  the  Ohio  country.  He  started  blithely 
on  his  journey  into  the  wider  world,  with  such  belong 
ings  as  an  old-fashioned  carpet-bag  would  hold  and  a 
composing-stick,  confident  that  the  latter  would 
always  enable  him  to  satisfy  his  slender  wants — which 
it  did.  He  had  no  special  point  of  landing  in  view. 
"I  didn't  know,"  he  said  afterward,  "but  what  I 
might  get  as  far  as  China  and  set  up  a  newspaper  one 
day  in  the  tea-chest  tongue." 

He  reached  Cincinnati  by  a  zigzag  route  across  the 
Middle  States,  tramping  much  of  the  way  from  town 
to  town,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind.  Here  he 
"subbed"  a  few  days  in  the  newspaper-offices,  then, 
led  by  an  advertisement  of  "School-teacher  Wanted" 
in  a  Kentucky  village,  applied  for  the  position  and 
got  it.  Frail  in  physique,  he  soon  perceived  that  he 
was  no  match  for  the  big  boys  who  always  tested  out 
the  pedagogue's  muscle;  he  concluded  at  the  end  of 
the  week  that  teaching  was  not  his  forte  and,  without 

[18] 


ARTEMU8   WARD   AT    TWENTY 


CLEVELAND 

waiting  for  his  pay,  shouldered  his  carpet-bag  and 
returned  on  Saturday  to  Cincinnati  and  his  trade. 
He  next  worked  along  the  Cincinnati,  Hamilton  & 
Dayton  line,  pausing  briefly  at  Dayton  and  Springfield, 
finally  bringing  up  in  Sandusky.  Here  he  learned  that 
a  man  was  needed  in  Tiffin,  the  county-seat  of  Seneca 
County,  on  the  Sandusky  River,  thirty-four  miles 
up-stream.  He  tramped  the  distance,  arrayed  in  a 
linen  duster  and  a  chip  hat,  toting  the  carpet-bag,  and 
secured  the  place,  that  of  a  sick  man,  in  the  office  of 
the  Seneca  Advertiser.  It  was  Democratic  in  politics, 
owned  and  published  by  W.  W.  Armstrong,  a  youth 
of  twenty-three,  who  found  the  new-comer,  then  but 
twenty,  an  agreeable  addition  to  his  force.  "I  think," 
said  Mr.  Armstrong,  to  whom  the  adventurer  presented 
himself,  dusty,  shabby,  and  forlorn,  seeking  the  much- 
needed  job,  "he  was  the  gawkiest,  greenest-looking 
young  fellow  I  ever  set  eyes  on."  He  was  tall,  awkward 
of  build,  and  loose-jointed  in  his  walk.  His  clothes 
did  not  fit,  and  his  tallow-colored  hair,  pallid  features, 
and  big  nose  certainly  combined  to  make  his  personality 
unprepossessing.  However,  he  soon  became  a  well- 
known  and  popular  personage  in  the  community, 
welcoming  the  stranger  and  the  showmen  when  they 
strayed  in,  and  writing  pleasant  paragraphs  about  the 
home  folks.  The  Advertiser  is  credited  with  paying 
him  four  dollars  per  week,  but  this  was  probably  in 
addition  to  board  and  lodging.  These  usually  were 
provided  by  the  rural  print-shops,  the  hotel  bill  being 
paid  in  job-work  and  advertising.  Board  and  lodging 
were  then  worth  about  four  dollars  a  week  more. 
Tiffin  was  the  center  of  a  prosperous  farming  region, 

[19] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

with  mills  and  good  stores,  rather  better  built  than 
most  Ohio  towns  of  that  day  or  this.  It  still  stands 
as  an  exceptional  municipality.  It  had  its  local 
limitations,  and  the  printer's  longing  to  progress  as 
serted  itself  after  something  less  than  a  pleasant  year 
had  passed.  He  found  employment  as  a  compositor 
on  the  Toledo  Commercial,  and  soon  took  the  complete 
plunge  from  "case"  to  "copy"  by  going  on  the  staff 
as  local  editor.  Here  his  talent  at  once  began  to 
blossom  in  lively  paragraphs  and  brisk  encounters 
with  the  rival  sheet.  Journalism  was  then  very  largely 
a  personal  affair  and  editors  spent  much  time  and 
wasted  a  deal  of  space  in  their  controversies  with 
one  another,  news  taking  a  back  seat  most  of  the  time. 
His  skill  in  persiflage  soon  spread  his  fame  through  the 
sanctums  of  northern  Ohio,  so  that  in  the  fall  of  1857, 
when  the  city  editor  of  the  Plain  Dealer,  in  Cleveland, 
James  D.  Cleveland,  resigned  to  take  the  place  of 
assistant  clerk  in  the  United  States  District  Court, 
to  subsequently  become  a  judge,  Joseph  W.  Gray,  a 
former  New  Hampshire  school-teacher,  turned  lawyer, 
founder  and  publisher  of  the  paper,  offered  him  the 
place  at  a  salary  of  ten  dollars  per  week.  He  accepted 
and  began  his  new  employment  on  October  29,  1857. 
He  had  successfully  passed  the  easy  stage  from  printer 
to  journalist.  The  Cleveland  Herald  of  October  30th 
noted  his  ai rival  with  this  paragraph: 

"Mr.  Brown,  formerly  'local'  of  the  Toledo  Com 
mercial,  has  taken  that  position  on  the  P.  D." 

His  intimate  friend,  James  F.  Ryder,  long  a  famous 
photographer  in  Cleveland,  thus  described  his  appear 
ance  in  the  office: 

[20] 


CLEVELAND 

"On  going  into  the  Plain  Dealer  editorial-rooms  one 
morning  I  saw  a  new  man  and  was  introduced  to  him 
by  head  bookkeeper  Charles  E.  Wilson  as  Mr.  Browne. 
He  was  young,  cheerful  in  manner,  tall  and  slender, 
not  quite  up  to  date  in  style  of  dress,  yet  by  no  means 
shabby.  His  hair  was  flaxen  and  very  straight;  his 
nose,  the  prominent  feature  of  his  face,  was  Roman 
esque — quite  violently  so,  with  a  leaning  to  the  left. 
His  eyes  were  blue-gray,  with  a  twinkle  in  them;  his 
mouth  seemed  so  given  to  a  merry  laugh,  so  much  in 
motion,  that  it  was  difficult  to  describe,  so  we  let  it 
pass.  It  seemed  as  though  bubbling  in  him  was  a  lot 
of  happiness  which  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal  or 
hold  back.  When  we  were  introduced  he  was  sitting 
at  his  table  writing;  he  gave  his  leg  a  smart  slap,  arose 
and  shook  hands  with  me,  and  said  he  was  glad  to  meet 
me.  I  believed  him,  for  he  looked  glad  all  the  time. 
You  couldn't  look  at  him  but  that  he  would  laugh. 
He  laughed  as  he  sat  at  his  table  writing,  and  when 
he  had  written  a  thing  which  pleased  him  he  would 
slap  his  leg  and  laugh.  I  noticed  that  George  Hoyt 
and  James  Brokenshire,  who  were  sitting  at  their 
tables,  were  pleased  with  his  merriment,  and  were  in 
dulging  in  broad  smiles.  As  I  bade  him,  with  the 
others,  'good  morning/  he  said,  'Come  again,  me 
liege.'  I  thanked  him,  said  I  would,  and  went  my 
way  thinking  what  a  funny  fellow  he  was." 

The  Cleveland  of  1857  was  just  beginning  to  feel 
itself  grow.  In  1850  the  census  gave  it  17,034  souls. 
By  1860  the  total  had  reached  43,638.  Iron  had  al 
ready  become  a  potentate.  Mark  Hanna  was  a 
hustling  youngster  about  town,  and  John  D.  Rocke- 

[21] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

feller  was  soon  to  climb  up  on  a  stool  in  a  down-street 
warehouse  to  keep  a  set  of  books,  with  oil  undreamed 
of  as  a  base  for  the  greatest  fortune  in  the  world. 
The  pollution  of  the  beautiful  Cuyahoga,  now 
perfected,  had  been  well  begun.  The  Plain  Dealer 
office  was  in  an  unkempt  and  unwholesome  building 
at  the  corner  of  Vineyard  and  Superior  streets,  dingy, 
dirty,  and  uncomfortable.  The  editorial-room  was  a 
shabby  loft,  furnished  with  rickety  pine  tables  and  half- 
dismembered  chairs.  In  short,  it  was  a  "hole"  such 
as  the  old-style  printing-office  was  wont  to  be.  The 
new  man  worked  with  the  crowd  at  a  table  in  the 
corner  that  joggled  as  he  wrote,  amid  the  scratchings 
of  other  pens  and  the  constant  howls  for  "copy"  from 
the  composing-room  aloft.  "Here  is  where  they  called 
me  a  fool"  (for  thinking  he  could  lecture  successfully), 
he  said  to  Kingston,  his  manager,  in  exhibiting  the  old 
shop  on  their  return  from  the  West. 

There  was  plenty  of  newspaper  life  in  the  city  when 
the  new  Local  arrived.  The  Plain  Dealer,  then  an 
afternoon  publication,  was  Democratic  in  policy,  but 
supported  Stephen  A.  Douglas.  The  friends  of  James 
Buchanan's  administration  had  recently  established  the 
National  Democrat  to  defend  the  President.  The 
Democrat  had  a  Local  also,  who  was  a  humorist, 
in  a  way,  A.  Minor  Griswold,  who  gained  much  repute 
as  "The  Fat  Contributor"  and  lived  to  edit  Texas 
Siftings,  thirty  years  after.  The  Press  and  Plain  Dealer 
alone  are  now  alive.  The  Leader,  recently  deceased 
(1917),  had  been  founded  in  1848  to  uphold  the  new 
fangled  doctrines  that  finally  became  Republican,  by 
Joseph  Medill,  Edwin  and  Eugene  Cowles,  the  first 


CLEVELAND 

two  of  whom  had  departed  in  1855  to  make  the 
mighty  Chicago  Tribune.  The  Cowles  control  of 
the  Leader,  however,  lasted  for  half  a  century,  as  a 
great  Republican  force  in  Ohio.  The  Herald,  also 
Republican,  was  owned  by  A.  W.  Fairbanks,  with 
J.  H.  A.  Bone  as  the  Local.  It  survived  into  the 
'nineties,  a  fief  of  Mark  Hanna's,  at  last  being  ab 
sorbed  by  the  Leader.  The  Leader's  Local  kept  clear 
of  the  scrapping  in  which  the  others  indulged  freely, 
with  honors  usually  on  the  side  of  the  Plain  Dealer 
genius,  who  was  a  Democrat,  while  the  Plain  Dealer 
had  a  pro-slavery  tone,  echoed  rather  loudly  in  its 
local  columns.  The  boys  were  on  good  terms  with 
one  another  and  the  show  of  ill-feeling  was  confined  to 
print. 

The  pages  of  the  Plain  Dealer  soon  began  to  reflect 
the  appearance  of  the  new-comer.  It  had  been  a  very 
staid  publication,  full  of  the  hot  politics  of  the  period, 
and  printing  little  that  could  be  called  news.  Indeed, 
Cleveland  in  that  day  did  not  furnish  much  of  the 
elusive  commodity.  Its  columns  twinkled  with  quips 
and  quirks.  The  lively  junior  professional  men  of  the 
town  fell  in  love  with  the  Local  and  he  was  soon 
the  center  of  an  interesting  circle.  Their  goings-on 
furnished  much  material  for  "copy"  in  the  Plain 
Dealer.  The  paper  perked  up  perceptibly  under  his 
frolicsome  hand.  Then,  on  January  30,  1858,  three 
months  after  his  arrival,  the  solemn  sheet  was  placed 
permanently  on  the  journalistic  map  of  the  world 
by  printing  the  first  communication  from  the  hand  of 
"Artemus  Ward,"  which  appeared  in  the  following 
form: 

[23] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"LETTER  FROM  A  SIDE-SHOWMAN 

"Mr.  Artemus  Ward,  proprietor  of  the  well-known 
side-show,  writes  us  from  Pittsburg  as  follows: 

"'Pitsburg,  Jan.  27,  18&58. 
"'The  Plane  Deeler: 
"'Sir: 

"i  write  to  no  how  about  the  show  bisnes  in  Cleeve- 
land  i  have  a  show  consisting  in  part  of  a  Calforny 
Bare  two  snakes  tame  foxies  &c  also  wax  works  my 
wax  works  is  hard  to  beat,  all  say  they  is  life  and 
nateral  curiosities  among  my  wax  works  is  Our 
Saveyer  Gen  taylor  and  Docktor  Webster  in  the  ackt 
of  killing  Parkman.  now  mr.  Editor  scratch  off  few 
lines  and  tel  me  how  is  the  show  bisnes  in  your  good 
city  i  shal  have  hanbils  printed  at  your  offis  you 
scratch  my  back  and  i  will  scratch  your  back,  also 
git  up  a  grate  blow  in  the  paper  about  my  show  don't 
forgit  the  wax  works. 

"*  yours  truly, 

ARTEMUS  WARD 

Pitsburg  Penny 

"p  S    pitsburg  is  a  1  horse  town.     A.  W.' 

"We  believe  Mr.  W.  would  do  well  with  his  show 
here,  and  advise  him  to  come  along  immediately." 

The  nom  de  plume,  though  variously  accounted  for, 
in  one  instance  as  the  misspelling  of  the  cognomen  of  the 
Revolutionary  general,  Artemas  Ward,  was  really  a 

[24] 


CLEVELAND 

home  product.  Waterford,  his  native  town,  was  a  land- 
grant  given  to  pay  claims  rising  out  of  Sir  William 
Phipps's  expedition  against  the  French  of  Canada  in 
1690.  The  Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  having 
failed  to  collect  enough  from  the  spoil  of  the  Acadians 
to  pay  the  bills,  gave  away  much  land.  Some  of  this 
lay  in  New  Hampshire  and  the  grants  were  disallowed 
by  that  colony  in  1739.  Maine,  being  then  part  of  the 
Bay  State,  was  drawn  upon  to  make  good  in  1774  to 
the  heirs  of  past  creditors,  and  Waterford  was  a  slice 
given  to  Seth  Rice,  Stephen  Maynard,  and  John 
Gardner,  "and  Artemus  Ward  is  joined"  reads  the 
record.  Jabez  Brown,  Artemus  Ward's  great-grand 
father,  surveyed  the  tract  in  1783.  His  grandfather 
was  agent  for  the  Massachusetts  owners  of  the  un 
settled  lands.  His  father,  a  surveyor,  had  much  to  do 
with  them,  so  of  course  their  names  were  familiar  to 
the  family.  It  is  easy  to  conclude,  therefore,  that  in 
picking  a  pen-name  the  young  Yankee,  chuckling  at  his 
shaky  work-table  in  the  Plain  Dealer  office,  by  idle 
chance  was  moved  to  select  that  of  the  ancient  Boston 
proprietor. 

The  whimsy  caught  popular  fancy  at  once.  Further 
news  from  the  showman  was  eagerly  awaited.  It  came 
on  February  8th,  under  a  Wheeling  date,  with  another 
appeal  to  the  editor  on  behalf  of  the  waxworks,  pre 
sented  in  this  fashion: 

"ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  ARTEMUS  WARD. — 
Artemus  Ward,  proprietor  of  the  well-known  side 
show,  writes  us  again.  He  writes  us  this  time  from 
Wheeling. 

[25] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"  'Wheeling,  va  feby  the  3  18  &  58. 

"Gents — ime  movin  sloly  down  your  way  i  want 
you  should  git  up  a  tremendus  excitement  in  the 
columz  of  your  valerble  paper  about  my  show,  it  nox 
the  socks  off  from  all  other  shows  in  the  u.  s.  my 
wax  works  is  the  delight  of  all.  the  papers  sets  my 
wax  works  up  steep,  i  want  the  editers  to  cum  to  my 
show  Free  as  the  flours  of  may,  but  i  Dont  want  them 
to  ride  a  Free  hos  to  deth.  the  Editers  in  pittsburg 
air  the  sneakinest  cusses  i  ever  see.  they  Come  to  the 
Show  in  krowds  and  then  ask  me  ten  Sents  a  line  for 
pufs.  they  said  if  i  made  a  Row  or  Disturbence  abowt 
it  they  would  all  jine  in  an  giv  my  wax  works  perfeck 
Hel.  the  editer  of  the  journal  said  he  would  Tip 
over  my  apel  cart  in  duble  quick  time,  if  i  Blowed 
round  him  about  hi  prises,  i  put  up  to  ther  Extorshuns 
long  Enough  &  left  in  Dizgust.  now  which  papers  is 
the  most  respectful  in  your  city,  i  shal  get  my  hanbils 
printed  at  your  offis — i  want  you  to  understan  that, 
but  i  must  keep  the  other  papers  in  good  umer.  now 
mr.  Ed  tel  me  franckly  without  no  disception  for  dis- 
ception  off  all  kinds  i  do  dispise.  Also  git  up  a  ex 
citement  in  the  Plane  Deeler  sinse  i  last  wrote  you 
ive  Added  a  Cangeroo  two  my  collecksion  of  Living 
Wild  Beasts,  it  would  make  you  larf  to  see  the  little 
cuss  jump  and  squeal,  if  you  say  anything  abowt  my 
show  pleas  state  my  snakes  is  under  perfeck  subjec- 
shun. 

;" yours  truly, 

A.  WARD. 

"'p.  S. — my  wax  works  is  hard  to  beet.'" 

1*6] 


CLEVELAND 

Some  of  the  points  in  this  note,  combined  with  its 
predecessors,  were  later  put  together  and  appear  as 
"one  of  Mr.  Ward's  Business  Letters,"  the  first  item 
in  His  Book,  in  this  form: 

"Sir — I'm  movin  along — slowly  along — down  tords 
your  place.  I  want  you  should  rite  me  a  letter,  sayin 
how  is  the  show  bizniss  in  your  place.  My  show  at 
present  consists  of  three  moral  Bares,  a  Kangaroo 
(a  amoozin  little  Raskal — t' would  make  you  larf  yerself 
to  deth  to  see  the  little  cuss  jump  up  and  squeal)  wax 
figgers  of  G.  Washington  Gen.  Tayler  John  Bunyan 
Capt.  Kidd  and  Dr.  Webster  in  the  act  of  killin  Dr. 
Parkman,  besides  several  miscellanyus  moral  wax 
statoots  of  celebrated  piruts  &  murderers,  &c.  ekalled 
by  few  &  exceld  by  none.  Now  Mr.  Editor,  scratch 
orf  a  few  lines  saying  how  is  the  show  bizniss  down  to 
your  place.  I  shall  hav  my  hanbills  dun  at  your  offiss. 
Depend  upon  it.  I  want  you  should  git  my  hanbills 
up  in  flamin  stile.  Also  git  up  a  tremenjus  excitement 
in  yr.  paper  'bowt  my  onparaleld  Show.  We  must 
fetch  the  public  sumhow.  We  must  wurk  on  their 
feelins.  Cum  the  moral  on  'em  strong.  If  it's  a 
temperance  community  tell  'em  I  sined  the  pledge 
fifteen  minits  arter  Ise  born,  but  on  the  contery  ef  your 
peple  take  their  tods,  say  Mister  Ward  is  as  Jenial 
a  feller  as  we  ever  met,  full  of  conwiviality,  &  the  life 
an  sole  of  the  Soshul  Bored.  Take,  don't  you?  If  you 
say  anythin  abowt  my  show  say  my  snaiks  is  as  harmliss 
as  the  new  born  Babe.  What  a  interestin  study  it  is 
to  see  a  zewological  animil  like  a  snaik  under  perfeck 
subjecshun!  My  kangaroo  is  the  most  larf  able  little 

[27] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

cuss  I  ever  saw.  All  for  15  cents.  I  am  anxyus  to 
skewer  your  infloounce.  I  repeet  in  regard  to  them 
hanbills  that  I  shall  git  'em  struck  orf  up  to  your 
printin  office.  My  perlitercal  sentiments  agree  with 
yourn  exackly.  I  know  they  do,  becawz  I  never  saw 
a  man  whoos  didn't. 

"Respectively  yures, 

A.  WARD. 

"'P.  S.  —  You  scratch  my  back  &  He  scratch  your 
back." 

The  showman  was  next  heard  from  at  Columbus,  the 
letter  appearing  on  the  15th,  thus: 

"LETTER  FROM  ARTEMUS  WARD. — The  proprietor  of 
the  well-known  Side-Show  writes  us  again: 

"'KoLUMBUS  ohio  Febey  the  16  18&58 

"Gents — here  i  am  in  the  kapertal  Sity  of  Ohio, 
ime  gradualy  gitting  down  yr  way.  as  the  Poit  says, 
ime  on  the  Winding  way  mr.  Editer.  i  gut  shaimfully 
uzed  up  to  whealin  by  a  nusepaper.  i  calls  no  names 
but  theres  a  editer  in  whealin  whose  meaner  than  biled 
vittles.  he  cums  to  my  show  every  Night  and  sets 
it  up  Steap  in  his  nusepaper  an  calls  me  the  erbane  an 
Inderfatergerble  Ward,  but  when  i  stops  gittin  my 
Hanbils  struck  off  up  to  his  offis  the  pussylanermus 
cuss  changis  his  toon  an  abuses  me  worse  nor  a  injun. 
he  blowed  up  my  wax  works  and  called  me  a  horery 
heded  itinerunt  vagerbone.  but  let  it  pas.  ive  bun  in 
the  Show  Bisness  now  goin  on  22  years  an  my  hed  is 

[28] 


CLEVELAND 

frostid  ore  with  white  an  ive  lernt  that  peple  aint  all 
ainjils  in  this  wurld.  their  must  Be  sum  black  sheap 
in  the  flock  mr.  Editer.  But  i  say  an  say  it  Boldly  that 
no  man  upon  God  All  mitys  foot  stule  can  rise  an  git 
up  an  say  to  my  fase  that  Artemus  Ward  ever  injered 
no  man  or  woman,  my  new  cangeroo  knox  the  socks 
off  from  all  Beasts  i  ever  seen,  its  amuzin  to  see  the 
little  Raskal  holler  and  kick  up  his  legs,  heze  a  Gay 
one  i  swear  to  you.  my  wax  works  is  the  astonish 
ment  of  the  Elittee.  yr  kolumbus  Correspondant  had 
3  tickets  to  my  Show  charged  to  your  offis,  he  said 
youd  make  it  rite  when  i  gut  my  hanbils  struck  off 
down  to  your  offis.  Several  members  of  the  legislater 
try  to  cum  a  Gouge  gaim  on  me  and  kraul  in  to  my 
show  without  Payin,  but  they  aint  Smart  enough  for 
Artemus  Ward,  his  excellentsee  guvner  Chase  wanted 
to  see  my  Show  gratooitusly,  but  sez  i  guvner  all  must 
Pay  both  of  hi  and  low  degre.  Sez  he  worthy  man 
i  see  the  forse  of  yr  obserwation  and  heres  ten  Sents. 
the  grate  man  side  as  he  saw  my  cangaroo.  Sez  he 
that  chaned  Beast  remines  me  of  the  3  milyuns  an  a 
Harf  of  our  unfortyunate  cullered  brethren  which  air 
clankin  their  chanes  down  in  the  Slaive  Oiler garchy. 
i  make  it  a  pint  to  agre  with  everybody  which  cums  to 
my  show,  so  i  sez  certinly,  no  dowt  abowt  it  at  all- 
same  things  ockurred  to  me  numerusly  &C.  &C. 
at  that  he  shook  me  kordyully  by  the  hand  an  sez 
he  i  wish  youse  wun  of  my  constituunts.  you  air  a 
hily  intellijunt  man.  i  shal  go  to  tiffin  from  here,  i 
want  you  to  distinkly  understan  i  shall  git  my  hanbils 
dun  at  yr  offis,  but  you  must  git  up  a  tremendus 
excitement  in  yr  Paper,  you  scratch  my  Back  an 

[29] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

ile  scratch  yr  Back,     my  Snakes  is  as  harmlis  as  the 
new  born  Babe. 

"'yrs.   truly,        A.   WARD, 

"p.S.— Is  Haul  rent  hi  in  Cleveland?     Rite  by  next 
male  to  tiffin.     A.  W.'" 

This  communication  was  not  used  in  His  Book,  but 
the  last  sentence  survives  in  the  Business  Letter. 
Agreeable  to  promise,  the  showman  was  heard  from 
in  Tiffin.  The  letter  was  local  in  tone,  and  included  a 
savage  reference  to  William  H.  Gibson,  an  eminent 
attorney  of  the  town  and  a  leader  in  the  newly  or 
ganized  Republican  party,  a  relative  of  whom  had 
mismanaged  some  Ohio  state  funds  in  his  care,  to 
which  the  showman  made  rough  allusion.  The  parti 
sanship  of  the  Plain  Dealer  explains  the  "shot."  Gib 
son  lived  to  become  colonel  of  the  Forty-ninth  Ohio  In 
fantry,  which  distinguished  itself  at  Shiloh  and  Stone's 
River,  a  brigadier-general,  and  an  orator  of  great 
distinction.  His  bones  were  "berried  in  Old  Seneky," 
as  the  letter  says  he  desired,  and  he  stands  in  bronze 
beside  the  Seneca  County  court-house,  within  the 
walls  of  which  he  so  often  sounded  oratorical  appeals 
of  the  highest  order.  The  letter  contains  the  "Judas 
Iscarrot"  story  that  finally  became  "A  High-handed 
Outrage  at  Utica,"  and  is  given  herewith,  less  the  un 
kind  Gibson  reference: 

"LETTER  PROM  ARTEMUS  WARD.— Here  is  another 
letter  from  Artemus  Ward,  proprietor  of  the  well- 
known  side-show: 

[30] 


CLEVELAND 

"'Tiffin,  Febey  the  23th,  18&58. 
'"Gentz — I  take  my  Pen  in  hand  to  inform  yu  in 
regard  to  my  kareer.  Ime  now  in  the  grate  Sity  of 
tiffin.  Yu  better  beleve  the  peple  of  tiffin  staired  sum 
when  i  posted  my  big  yeller  hanbills  up  in  their  town. 
No  sho  has  bin  here  for  goin  on  leven  (11)  years. 
Frequiently  the  peple  side  for  amuzement  but  not  a 
amuzement  would  cum.  The  sity  is  so  all  fired  Big 
that  shows  stan  no  chanse.  The  hotels  is  all  fust-class 
and  their  bills  air  hyer  nor  showmen  can  ford  to  pay. 
Howsever  Artemus  Ward  noze  no  such  wurd  as  fale 
an  i  deturmined  to  storm  the  Mallerkarf.  if  i  do  say 
it  myself  imes  bold  as  a  eagle,  the  peple  air  delited 
with  my  show,  my  wax  works  is  the  prase  of  all. 
among  my  wax  works  is  the  Lords  last  supper,  the 
characters  bein  as  large  as  life.  A  feller  from  the  east 
part  of  Seneky  County  cum  to  my  show  and  thot  my 
Judus  Iscarrot  was  alive.  Sez  he  to  me,  yu  jus  take 
that  sneakin  cuss  out  this  haul  er  ile  smash  his  hed  in. 
Sez  i  yung  man  that  air  is  a  wax  work.  Sez  he  wax 
work  be  darned,  thats  old  Judus  Iscarrot  and  if  heze 
a  man  he  will  step  out  here  and  fite  me.  i  kan  stan 
a  good  deel  but  i  gut  all  fired  mad,  and  sez  i  yu  ornary 
cuss  keep  away  from  my  wax  works  or  ile  fall  on  ye. 
At  that  he  made  a  lunge  cross  the  table  and  seised 
Judus  by  the  neck  an  dragged  him  out  inter  the  middel 
of  the  haul  and  kommensed  a  poundin  him.  Sez  he 
Judus  Iscarrot  cant  show  hisself  with  impunerty  in 
tiffin  by  a  Dam  site.  I  finerly  convinsed  the  pesky 
fool  that  it  was  a  wax  work.  He  larfed  and  said  he 
would  stan  the  old  rye  for  he  and  me.  Tiffin  is  a  grate 
sity.  It  is  thickly  settled  round  the  meetin-house. 

[31] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

its  princerpal  institushuns  air  the  meetin-house,  hay- 
scales  and  William  H.  Gibson,  mr.  Gibson  is  on  the 
legul  tide.  He  tole  me  his  bones  wood  be  berried  in 
Old  Seneky.  .  .  .  There  was  a  grate  competishun 
at  ween  the  Advertiser  and  tribune  to  see  which  should 
strike  off  my  hanbils.  Armstrong  has  got  a  kut  of  a 
horse  with  a  man  holdin  onto  him  as  he  said  he  was  the 
only  printer  in  town  which  could  do  picktorial  bills, 
so  i  gut  my  hanbills  struck  off  up  to  his  offis.  i  shall 
be  in  Cleveland  in  a  few  weeks,  i  want  yu  should 
go  to  the  gentlemunly  lanlords  of  the  American,  Wed- 
dell,  Anjier,  and  Johnson  tavurns  and  git  their  proper- 
sishuns  for  keepin  me.  my  kompany  consists  of  my 
self  two  boys  a  forrun  Italyun  who  plays  the  hand 
orging,  1  cangeroo,  6  snakes,  calerforny  bare  and 
other  wild  beasts  two  numerous  to  menshun.  Set  yr 
hearts  at  rest  about  my  Hanbills — i  say  they  shall  be 
struck  off  down  to  yr  offis  an  what  i  say  i  mean.  I 
shall  go  to  toledo  from  tiffin. 

"yours  Respectably, 

ARTEMUS  WARD. 

"p.  s.     ive  bin  in  the  show  bisness  twenty-two 
yrs.  "<A.  W. 


He  wrote  from  Toledo,  another  "home  town,"  on 
March  9th.  The  letter  vividly  describes  the  elopement 
of  the  Kangaroo.  It  was  not  preserved  in  his  printed 
works.  This  is  the  text  as  found  in  the  Plain  Dealer: 

"LETTER  FROM  ARTEMUS  WARD. — We  have  received 
another  letter  from  Artemus  Ward,  proprietor  of  the 
well-known  Show: 

[321 


CLEVELAND 

"'toledo,  march  7,  18&58 

"'Gentz — For  22  yeres  has  the  undersined  bin  in  the 
show  bisness  and  i  say  open  and  abuv  bored  that  i 
was  never  in  a  more  hosspital  town  than  toledo.  Awl 
the  peple  hear  take  a  interest  in  my  show.  The  haul 
where  i  exhibit  is  krowdid  from  "erly  morn  to  dooey 
eve,"  as  the  Poit  sez.  Several  of  the  fust  famerlis  of 
Mawmee  sity  and  White  Pidging  also  cum  to  my  show. 
My  wax  works  takes  the  peple  by  storm.  In  the 
langwidge  of  the  Toledo  Blaid,  "Artemus  Ward's  wax 
works  air  chief  de  overs  of  skulptorialastic  art." 
Toledo  is  a  interestin  sity.  There  is  probly  more 
promersing  and  virtuous  young  men  in  toledo  than 
there  is  anywheres.  The  climit  is  such  that  a  great 
many  of  the  mail  inhabitants  hav  to  take  a  gin-cocktale 
evry  mornin  afore  brekfust.  It  was  hard  for  them  to 
do  it  at  fust  but  thay  take  to  it  quite  nateral  now. 
My  cangeroo  gut  out  of  his  cage  the  other  evenin 
and  run  off  faster  nor  a  lokomotive.  The  Common 
Counsil  was  in  session  at  the  time  my  cangeroo  gut 
out  and  when  thay  heerd  of  the  affectin  casyualty 
they  unainimersly  parsed  the  follering  preambel  and 
resolushuns: 

"'"Whereas,  This  ere  Counsil  thinks  hily  of  Ar 
temus  Ward;  and  Whereas,  it  has  pleased  Devine 
Providence  to  cause  his  cangeroo  to  escaip;  and 
Whereas,  the  resunt  escaip  of  a  hyeny  in  Pauldin 
county  and  his  terriable  doins  in  a  grave  yard  planely 
shows  the  awfulness  of  allowin  beasts  of  pray  to  roam 
through  the  country — therefore  be  it 

"Resolved,  That   this    Counsil   do   immediuntly 
ajurn  and  assist  Mr.  Ward  for  to  capter  his  beast." 

4  [33] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"'Accordingly  thay  did  so.  Abowt  saving  hundred 
(700)  citizuns  jined  in  the  pursoot.  We  chased  the 
little  cuss  clear  up  to  Tremendusville  afore  we  cawt 
him.  It  wood  hav  made  you  larf  to  hearn  the  little 
cuss  squeal  and  kick  up  his  legs.  On  our  return  to 
toledo  abel  and  eloqunt  speaches  was  maid  by  several 
distingwished  citizuns,  and  awl  parsed  off  in  the  most 
pleasant  stile. 

" '  My  snakes  is  under  perfect  subjecshun.  Among  my 
snakes  is  a  Boy  Constructor,  the  largist  in  the  wurld. 
It  wood  make  your  blud  freeze  to  see  the  mongster 
unkoil  hisself.  If  yu  put  this  letter  in  the  papers  i 
wish  you  wood  be  more  particlar  abowt  the  spellin 
and  punctooation.  i  dont  ploom  myself  on  my  learnin. 
i  shall  be  in  Cleveland  befour  long  and  my  hanbills 
shall  certinly  be  struck  off  down  to  your  offis.  Set 
your  harts  at  rest  on  that  pint. 

"'Very  Respectively  yours, 

ARTEMUS  WARD.'" 

Local  appreciation  at  once  greeted  the  showman. 
His  name  and  sayings  became  bywords  in  the  com 
munity.  Preceding  Gray's  masquerade  ball,  held  on 
the  evening  of  March  16,  1858,  this  circular  was  dis 
tributed  to  herald  a  feature  of  the  evening: 

"Great  Exsitement!!  Artemus  Ward  is  arrived  in 
Town  with  his  Big  Ellefant  Ameraka  and  by  patickelar 
reqest  will  B  here  this  evening.  Evry  boddy  must 
B  karful  not  to  git  two  klost  two  the  quadry  pid  as  he 
has  only  bin  kaut  bout  22  yeeres  an  aint  all  togather 
acquainted  with  the  Humin  raise.  Artemus  houevr 

[34] 


CLEVELAND 

has  controlle  of  the  animile  and  will  make  him  kut 
up  sum  of  his  best  kapers. 

"P.  S.  ladys  may  ryde  on  the  animile  at  their  own 
risk. 

"ARTEMTJS  WARD. 

"N  B  March  the  Sixteenth,  Aighteen  Hundred  and 
Fifty  Aight." 

Mr.  Ward  noted  the  event,  with  its  use  of  his  name 
and  orthography,  in  a  communication,  dated  from 
Sandusky,  printed  in  the  Plain  Dealer  on  March  20th, 

viz.: 

"OuR  WARD  CORRESPONDENCE. — Artemus  Ward 
writes  us  again: 

"'SANDUSTY  mch  the  10  18&58. 

"Gentz. — my  feelins  has  bin  injered  by  them  scan- 
derlus  proceedings  at  the  maskeraid  Bawl  in  yr  sity. 
my  virtoo  and  repytashun  has  bin  tampird  with  by  a 
sekrit  organizashun  of  konsperitors  in  yr  sity  which 
stile  theirselves  the  elefunt  klub.  Jellus  of  my  grate 
and  brilyunt  sucksess  in  the  show  bisness  (which  ive 
bin  into  going  on  22  yeres),  this  klub  mulishusly  under 
takes  to  pull  awl  the  lawrils  cut  of  my  Brown,  for 
their  own  selfish  agranndeyesment. 

'"Manz  inliumanerty  two  man 

maikes  kountlis  injuns  for  to  moarn." 

sez  the  Poit  and  heze  rite.  Jest  yu  tell  them  elefunt 
fellers  that  the  feelings  of  A.  Ward  air  not  to  be  laz- 
zeratid  with  impunerty,  and  if  thay  kut  up  much 
moore  capers  at  my  expence  thay  wont  be  allowed  to 

[35] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

visit  my  show  when  i  DOO  (put  doo  in  large  tipes) 
cum  to  Cleaveland  upon  no  konswierashun  whatsoevir. 
ime  doin  middlin  hear  in  Sandusty.  The  peple  dont 
seam  to  preshiate  my  wax  works,  howsever.  sez  a 
leadin  sitizen  to  me  sez  he  pintin  to  my  wax  work  of 
Dr.  Parkman,  Doo  i  behold,  sez  he,  the  grate  Bunyun, 
awther  of  the  Pilgrims  Progriss,  dun  in  wax?  Sez  i 
skacely.  Sez  he  worthy  man  what  doo  yer  mean. 
Sez  i  my  fren  that  air  aint  Bunyin — its  Parkman 
who  was  fatally  killed  by  a  unprincipled  cuss  in  Bostin 
named  Webstir.  Sez  he  yu  ^grejus  old  ass  doo  yu 
spose  i  dont  know  Bunyun.  He  use  to  live  in  Sandusty 
and  his  Pilgrim's  Progriss  was  orijernally  printed  in 
the  lokul  colum  of  the  Daly  Registir.  i  maid  no  repli 
yit  i  was  all  fired  mad  at  the  man,  i  tell  yu.  sins  i 
last  writ  to  yu  ive  addid  a  panaramy  to  my  show,  i 
call  it  a  Grand  Movin  Diarer  of  Seens  in  the  Crymear. 
It  takes  like  hot  cakes,  my  cangeroo  continers  very 
troublesum.  He  rasis  perfeck  Hel  all  the  time,  he 
yells  and  kicks  up  his  legs  from  mornin  til  nite.  He 
hollererd  so  outrajusly  last  evenin  that  the  music  of 
the  handorgin  was  compleetly  drowndid.  Ime  try  in 
to  hosswhip  the  little  cuss  into  subjecshun.  Ime  goin 
to  Oberlin  from  hear  and  from  Oberlin  i  shall  cum  to 
Cleaveland  without  no  fale. 

"'yours  Respectively, 

ARTEMUS  WARD.'* 

Agreeable  to  announcement,  Mr.  Ward  visited 
Oberlin.  The  result  appeared  in  the  Plain  Dealer  of 
March  20th.  It  is  one  of  his  best  and,  but  slightly 
modified,  appears  in  His  Book.  Oberlin  "konfired" 

[361 


CLEVELAND 

on  him  the  "honery  title  of  T.  K,"  of  which  he  was 
"suffishuntly  prowd."  Despite  his  promises  to  the 
editor,  Mr.  Ward  evaded  Cleveland,  and  a  gap  follows 
in  the  correspondence.  He  is  not  heard  from  until 
April  17th,  when  this  letter  is  given  as  from  Chicago, 
explaining  his  failure  to  reach  the  Forest  City: 

"LETTER  FROM  ARTEMUS  WARD. — *  Chicago,  Illinoy, 
Aperel  the  12,  18&58:— Gents— I  took  a  suddin  de- 
parter  from  Oberlin  and  cum  Westwud  hoe.  I  shant 
be  in  yr  sity  for  sum  time.  I  trust  you  will  bare  up 
under  the  disapintment  of  my  not  cuming  as  pir 
agreemunt,  but  the  fackt  is  talents  and  wax  figgers  air 
not  apreshiatid  in  yr.  sity.  The  fine  arts  stan  no 
moor  chanse  in  Cleaveland  than  thay  do  amung  the 
wild  injines  of  the  far  westurn  prehayries.  I  know 
yu  air  men  of  a  good  many  feelins,  an  your  feelins  may 
prehaps  be  injered  at  these  ere  remarks,  but  thay  -air 
true  an  so  i  tell  yu  open  an  above  bored  without  no 
disception,  an  disception  of  awl  kinds  i  doo  dispise 
from  the  Bottum  of  my  hart.  Stil  i  may  try  yr  sity  on, 
but  as  i  gaze  far  back  into  the  Dim  vister  of  the  past 
an  remember  how  i  was  cleaned  out  when  i  showed 
in  yr.  sity  several  yeres  ago,  i  sez  to  myself,  avoyd  the 
Forrist  Sity  as  yu  wood  a  unchaned  beest  of  pray. 
Tharefore  my  frends  of  the  editorial  corpse,  yu  must 
exkuse  me.  I  know  yu  will  be  disapinted  at  not  doin 
my  hanbils,  but  i  bleeve  you  hav  soles  abuv  a  few 
poltry  hanbils. 

' '  Chicago  is  a  grate  plase.  Awl  the  sitizens  think  it 
is  a  grate  plase.  Thay  say  its  futur  is  brilyunt.  Ive 
looked  round  considerable  an  must  say  i  haint  dis- 

[371 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

kovered  the  brilyunt  futur  yet,  but  they  paternize 
my  wax  figgers  librally,  and  thats  the  mane  pint  with 
me.  I  was  told  thay  kept  the  brilyunt  futur  up  to 
the  Democratic  Press  offis  mostly,  an  prehaps  thay 
doo.  Thay  say  the  dume  of  New  York  is  seeled,  becoz 
it  is  two  far  off  from  Chicago.  The  only  rivuls  thay 
acknollidge  is  Lundun,  Pekin  and  Tiffin.  Thare's  a 
hi  breeze  prevalin  here  awl  the  time,  which  makes  the 
streets  dusty.  The  Statistick  editer  of  the  Demer- 
cratic  Press  told  me  that  he  chanes  his  feet  to  the 
floor  and  wares  a  small  grindstun  in  his  hat  when  he 
rites  statististicks,  to  avoyd  bein  blowd  away.  Lake 
Mishigan  is  lokatid  on  Chicago.  Illinoy  is  also  in 
Chicago.  There  aint  much  money  here.  Corner-lots  is 
the  principal  currency.  Fur  instance,  a  sitizun  wants 
a  drink,  (which  he  duz  quite  frequiently)  he  takes  his 
map,  goze  to  the  serloon,  gits  his  beveridge,  an  then 
unrols  his  map.  Which  seckshun  wood  yu  like  a  lot 
in?  he  sez  two  the  bar  .tender..  The  bar  tender  picks 
out  the  lot  he  duz  desire  an  the  papers  air  made  out 
on  the  spot.  About  awl  the  muney  ive  taken  is  in 
corner-lots,  but  i  spose  it  is  awl  rite,  partickerly  if  thay 
turn  that  air  brilyunt  futur  loose  pritty  soon. 

"'Ime  greeved  to  inform  yu  that  my  Cangeroo  con- 
tiners  to  conduck  hisself  in  a  owdashus  stile.  Sich 
infernul  doins  as  that  air  beest  cuts  up  i  never  did  see 
in  my  born  days  an  dont  want  to  agin.  He  yells 
from  mornin  till  nite  an  kicks  up  his  legs  in  a  stile 
startlin  two  behold.  Even  sinse  he  was  captered  by 
the  Sity  Counsil  of  Toledo  he  has  acted  outrajusly. 
Whare  next  i  shall  unfurl  my  Bannir  two  the  Breeze, 
i  know  not.  Awl  plasis  air  alike  two  the  undersined. 

[38] 


CLEVELAND 

But  where  ear  i  Rome  my  buzzum  shall  team  with 
kind  feelins  for  thee. 

"'ARTEMUS  WARD,  T.  K.'" 

Nothing  further  appeared  from  the  showman's  pen 
until  May  29th.  Then  the  note  was  dated  from  Bald 
wins  ville.  It  was  illustrated  with  a  cut  of  "Artemus 
Ward"  from  an  "Autograph  by  Ryder,"  meaning 
James  F.,  but  drawn  by  George  Hoyt,  and  described 
"Scandalous  Doings  at  Pittsburg,"  as  it  appears  some 
what  modified  in  His  Book.  In  the  book  the  intro 
ductory  paragraph  is  missing.  It  reads: 

"BALDINGSVILLE  Indianny 

May  the  25  18&58 

"  Gentz — Hears  two  you  oM  fellers  and  ma  your  shad- 
ders  never  gro  lesser.  I  spose  you  have  bin  a  wonderin 
whare  upon  arth  the  undersined  was  and  what  i  wus 
a  doin  on,  and  prehaps  the  sollum  thawt  has  struck 
yu  that  i  had  takin  my  departer  from  this  mundaine 
spear  and  as  Hamlick  sez,  'Shoveled  orf  this  mortal 
Koil,'  and  seazed  two  be  no  moore.  Likeliz  not  yu 
hav  bin  temptid  moren  once  to  rite  a  obitchuary  on 
Artemus  Ward.  But  surs  my  time  hasent  arrovan 
yit.  Tiz  troo  my  live  is  in  the  Sheer  and  Yeller  leef 
but  while  i  doo  live  and  hav  my  bein  i  maik  Bold  two 
say  i  shall  continner  a  ornimunt  to  Sosiety  and  the 
show  bizniss,  which  larst  as  i  heve  befour  frequiuntly 
obsarved  i  hav  bin  into  goin  on  twenty-too  (22)  yeres. 

"I  rite  yu  frum  my  humstid  in  Baldingsville  In 
dianny.  Ime  at  hum  Rekuperatin  and  preparin  fur 
the  Summir  kampain. 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"Hear  in  the  Buzzum  of  my  famerly  i  am  enjoyin 
myself,  at  peas  with  awl  mankind  and  the  wimmin 
folks  likewize.  I  go  down  to  the  village  ockashunly 
and  take  a  little  old  Rye  fur  the  stummucks  sake  but 
i  avoyd  spiritus  lickers  as  a  ginral  thing.  No  man  evir 


PROM  Air    AUTOGRAPH    BY  RYDER, 


seen  me  intossikated  but  onct  and  that  air  happind 
in  Pittzbug.  A  parsel  of  ornery  cusses  in  that  mizzer- 
able  sity  bustid  inter  the  hawl  durin  the  nite  and 
aboosed  my  wax  works  shaimful.  I  dident  obsarve 
the  outrajus  transacshuns  ontil  the  next  evenin  when 
the  peple  begun  for  to  kongregate.  Suddinly  thay 
kommensed  for  two  larf  and  holler  in  a  boysterious  stile. 
Sez  i  good  peple  whats  up?  Sez  thay  thems  grate 
wax  works  isnt  thay  old  man.  I  immejitly  looked  up 
ter  whare  the  wax  works  was  and  my  blud  biles  as 

[40] 


CLEVELAND 

i  think  of  the  site  which  then  met  my  Gase.  I  hope 
two  be  dodrabbertid  if  them  afoursed  raskals  hadent 
gone  and  put  a  old  kaved  in  hat  onter  George  Washing 
ton's  hed  and  shuvd  a  short  black  klay  pipe  inter  his 
mouth.  His  noze  thay  had  paintid  red  and  his  trowsis 
legs  thay  had  shuvd  inside  his  butes.  My  wax  figger 
of  Napoleong  Boneypart  was  likewize  mawltratid. 
His  sword  was  danglin  tween  his  legs,  his  cockd  hat 
was  drawn  klean  down  over  his  ize  and  he  was  plased 
in  a  stoopin  posishun  lookin  zactly  as  tho  he  was  as 
drunk  as  a  biled  owl.  Ginral  Tayler  was  standin  on 
his  hed  and  Wingfield  Skott's  koat  tales  were  pind 
over  his  hed  and  his  trowsis  ware  kompleetly  torn  off 
frum  hisself.  My  wax  works  representin  the  Lords 
Supper  was  likewize  aboozed.  Three  of  the  Postles 
ware  under  the  table  and  two  of  um  had  on  old  tar- 
pa  wlin  hats  and  raggid  pee  jackits  and  ware  smokin 
pipes.  Judus  Iskarriot  had  on  a  cocked  hat  and  was 
apperently  drinkin,  as  a  Bottle  of  whisky  sot  befour 
him.  This  ere  specktercal  wuz  too  much  fur  me.  i 
klosed  the  show  and  then  drowndid  my  sorrers  in  the 
flowin  Bole. 

"Probly  ile  rite  you  agin  befour  i  take  my  departer 
on  the  Summer  kampain. 

"Very  Respectively  Yures, 

ARTEMUS  WARD,  T.  K." 

The  Hoyt  woodcut  was  used  occasionally  afterward 
to  lead  the  letters.  It  was  a  very  early  example  of 
newspaper  illustration.  The  Plain  Dealer  sometimes 
used  other  specimens  of  his  work  carved  on  the  block 
by  a  local  engraver  named  George  W.  Tibbitts. 

[41] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

The  half-thought  crudities  and  incongruities  now 
began  to  shape  themselves  for  a  wider  call.  The  next 
letter  in  order  was  ostensibly  from  Cincinnati,  and 
without  title,  but  became  "Wax  Figures  vs.  Shake 
speare  "  in  His  Book.  It  was  printed  in  the  Plain  Dealer 
on  July  10th.  This  was  followed  on  July  16th  by  a 
"Fourth-of-July  Oration"  supposed  to  have  been  de 
livered  at  Weathersfield,  Connecticut,  by  Mr.  Ward. 
He  hinged  it  on  the  annual  celebration  held  there  by 
Henry  C.  Bo  wen,  whose  custom  then  and  for  many 
years  later  was  to  have  some  celebrity  sound  a  high 
note  on  the  occasion  to  a  distinguished  company  and 
the  neighbors  about  his  country  seat.  It  was  an 
extremely  able  "oration,"  better  by  far  than  most  of 
the  serious  ones  usually  given  at  the  place,  and  lifted 
him  still  more  into  the  lime-light.  There  was  a  lapse 
from  this  to  September  6th,  indicating  a  lengthy  va 
cation,  when  "The  Atlantic  Cable  in  B  aid  wins  ville " 
appeared.  This  was  an  account  of  a  "celebrashern" 
in  honor  of  the  first  laying  of  Cyrus  W.  Field's  line 
under  the  Atlantic,  which  broke  down  after  transmit 
ting  a  single  message.  It  ranks  with  the  best  of  his 
productions.  A  visit  to  the  Free  Love  Colony  at 
Berlin  Heights,  Ohio,  published  on  October  llth,  was 
another  very  successful  letter.  The  showman  was  not 
heard  from  again  until  December  13th,  when  the 
celebrated  essay,  "Among  the  Spirits,"  appeared. 
There  was  a  further  absence  of  communication  after 
this  date  until  February  2,  1859,  when  a  note  came 
from  Baldwinsville,  indicating  that  the  Local  had  been 
among  the  lost  for  some  time,  Mr.  Ward  furnishing  the 
pleasing  news  of  his  discovery: 

[42] 


CLEVELAND 
"OUR  LOCAL  HEARD  FROM 

"'baldinsville  febuary  1   18  &  58  no  9. 

"'deer  sur,  i  larn  a  reward  is  gin  out  fur  the  capter 
uv  mister  broun.  ile  fetch  the  kus  back  and  no 
questions  ast — ive  had  trubel  a  nuf  with  him  a  reddy, 
when  i  got  mi  waxworx  uv  franklin  smasht  and  spilte 
tha  tole  me  he  was  jes  the  wun  2  pla  Waxworx  til 
i  cood  git  a  nuther  Main,  so  i  cum  2  klevlin  and  found 
him  in  a  religus  meetin  where  he  had  no  frenz,  and  sur, 
i  druther  got  a  lejin  uv  wild  snaiks  and  kangaroos  on 
the  karz  than  him,  but  i  got  him  on,  and  had  2  send 
rite  off  fur  pants  fur  boath  uv  us  afour  the  conducter 
wood  start,  Wai  we  got  saif  2  oblin  and  thare  we 
got  off  and  went  behind  the  shed  to  change  britches, 
coz  mine  was  2  small,  and  hizen  2  big,  jes  then  peck 
hearn  How  it  was  and  in  the  wurds  uv  the  lamented 
mister  Paul. 

"'"At  once  there  rows  so  wild  a  yel  within  that 
dark  and  dismal  del  as  All  the  imps  frum  heven  that 
fel  had  razed  the  battel  kry  uv  hel, 

"""FELONS  2  THE  RESKU!! 
FELONS  2  THE  RESKU!! 
GOD  AND  MI  RITE!!' 

6 'daten  forever!  daten,  daten!  mis  daten!" — PAREN 
THESIS,  u  see  ime  a  skoler,  PARENTHESIS,  what  he  ment 
by  callin  out  mis  daten  i  dunno — In  2  minits  he  had 
moren  20  thousin  niggers,  white  and  black  after  us, 
broun  sed  he  druther  fall  in  mi  hans  than  theirn  so  a4 
we  got  a  toe  into  tother  trouses,  we  cut  for  the  cars 
and  lost  both  pare,  and  not  likin  to  go  in  the  cars  this 
way,  we  shot  under  and  got  on  the  trux,  now  sur  ive 

[43] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

been  in  sho  bisness  22  years,  ive  showed  bares,  and 
kangaroos  and  snakes  and  other  sieh  animals,  but 
this  capt  all  i  ever  see.  Ma  be  we  didnt  have  a  time 
a4  we  got  2  baldinsville,  but  weve  had  a  wus  time  sens, 
a  purty  waxfiger  he  makes  snickering  every  time  any 
1  sez  "franklin  looks  natral,"  i  tride  him  2  take 
care  of  the  kangaroo  but  which  had  the  wust  time  i 
dunno.  No  mr  editer  ime  BEET  for  the  fust  time  in 
my  life,  and  ile  bring  the  Kus  back  and  no  kuestions 
ast.  yours, 

ARTEMUS  WARD." 

At  this  day  all  the  above  is  enigmatical.  February 
14,  1859,  the  Plain  Dealer  carried  the  letter  from 
Baldwinsville  describing  the  "Showman's  Courtship" 
—in  which  the  sweet  object  of  his  affections  is  named 
"Susanner."  This  was  changed  in  His  Book  to 
"Betsey  Jane,"  the  permanent  appellation  of  the 
sharer  of  his  joys  and  sorrows.  There  was  no  letter 
in  March,  but  April  25th  the  paper  printed  "Artemus 
Ward  Sees  Piccolomini,"  that  lady  being  then  the 
reigning  star  of  the  operatic  stage.  Nothing  more 
appeared  until  November  12th,  when  "Joy  in  the 
House  of  Ward"  came  out — well  waiting  for — reciting, 
as  it  did,  the  coming  of  "The  Twins,"  or  "two  epi 
sodes,"  as  he  termed  them! 

The  Plain  Dealer  files  disclose  no  further  communi 
cation  until  April  21,  1860,  when  "Artemus  Ward 
Encounters  the  Octoroon"  appeared.  June  1st  gives 
us  his  vision  of  Adelina  Patti,  then  in  the  first  blush 
of  her  lovely  youth,  the  last  item  to  appear  over  his 
signature. 

[44] 


Ill 

BOHEMIAN   DAYS 

IN  the  day's  work,  besides  joking  the  citizens,  picking 
up  police  and  court  items,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam 
of  city  news,  and  recording  the  showman's  adventures, 
the  Local  answered  mythical  correspondents  with  replies 
calculated  to  jar  the  readers.  His  "copy"  wandered 
in  all  directions,  noting  current  events  elsewhere,  and 
inventing  them  when  dull,  with  plenty  of  playful  para 
graphs  affecting  his  contemporaries. 

A  freak  in  the  column  which  excited  much  amusement 
in  the  city,  especially  in  the  newspaper-offices,  was  the 
publication  in  the  Plain  Dealer,  January  28,  1859,  of 
"The  Three  Tigers  of  Cleveland  Journalism,"  purport 
ing  to  be  contributions  on  moral  questions,  most  im 
morally  written,  and  ascribed  to  the  grave  editors  of 
the  Press,  Herald,  and  Plain  Dealer.  The  articles  with 
their  prelude  follow: 

"A  NOVEL  AND  UNIQUE  FEATURE 

THE  THREE  TIGERS 

OF 
THE  CLEVELAND  PRESS 

ALL 
WRITING  FOR  THE  PLAIN  DEALER! 

"It  is  with  no  ordinary  emotions  of  pleasure  that  the 
Local  Editor  of  this  paper  announces  the  entire  success 

[45] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 


A?': 

v*C 


f.l{ 

•^|H 


«*fV 

V\X  V 


5     **     ^         *      jJ   S 

rWftfl 

iwiJT. 

•jwy ) 

M.^Oi 

V^.  W-1* 


[46] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

of  one  of  the  most  stupendous  newspaper  achievements 
on  record.  This  evening's  paper  contains  the  achieve 
ment.  Below  is  the  achievement.  We  invite  the 
particular  attention  of  the  American  people,  irrespec 
tive  of  party  or  sect,  to  the  achievement.  Other 
achievements  have  been  achieved,  but  they  were  as 
molehills  to  mountains  beside  this  one — which  is  un 
deniably  a  stunner. 

"In  this  evening's  PLAIN  DEALER  the  Three  Tigers 
of  the  Cleveland  Press  furnish  our  column,  for  this 
occasion  only,  with  original  communications,  written 
expressly  for  us.  Bonner's  hiring  the  Three  Lions  of 
the  New  York  Press  to  write  for  the  Ledger  did  not 
suggest  the  idea  to  us.  Far  from  it.  We  thought  of 
the  idea  long  ago.  Besides,  our  writers  are  Tigers 
while  his  are  Lions.  For  these  Tigers  to  lie  down 
together  is  nothing  new,  for  if  they  are  themselves  to  be 
believed  (as  we  know  they  are)  they  have  been  doing 
that  for  several  years.  That  is  not  the  point.  The 
hugeness  of  the  thing  consists  in  our  being  able — we, 
an  inexperienced  young  man  and  born  of  poor  but 
respectable  parents — to  bring  these  three  ferocious 
Tigers  together!  The  enormous  expense  of  the  thing 
— the  many  sleepless  nights  we  have  passed  thinking 
of  the  thing — how  we  have  racked  our  brain  pondering 
on  the  thing — need  not  be  told.  Suffice  it  to  say,  in 
the  language  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  at  the  close 
of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  'THE  THING  is  DID!' 

"From  the  pen  of  the  veteran  editor  of  the  Cleveland 
Press,  J.  A.  Harris,  Esq.,  we  have  an  able  and  eloquent 
essay  on  Prize-Fighting. 

"Mr.  Benedict,  of  the  Herald,  furnishes  us  with  a 

[47] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

beautiful  paper  on  'Dress,  Etiquette,  &c,'  on  which  he 
is  admirably  competent  to  speak.  He  also  furnishes 
us  with  a  juvenile  poem  which  now  appears  in  print 
for  the  first  time. 

"From  Mr.  Gray's  felicitous  pen  we  have  an  affecting 
article  'On  the  Evils  of  Dancing/  and  also  a  Juvenile 
Essay  of  marked  merit  'On  the  Elephant.'  Enough 
said. 


"'PRIZE-FIGHTING.    AN  ESSAY 
By  J.  A.  HARRIS 

"'The  late  "mill"  between  Messrs.  Morrissey  and 
Heenan  at  Long  Point,  Canada,  (to  which  bleak  and 
dismal  spot,  to  the  shame  of  America  be  it  said,  they 
were  ruthlessly  driven  by  our  infamous  laws,)  has 
directed  attention  afresh  to  the  noble  and  muscle- 
developing  sports  of  the  Ring.  How  that  contest 
resulted,  my  readers  all  know,  and  I  presume  none  of 
them  doubt  that  had  the  Benecia  Boy  not  mistaken 
a  post  for  Mr.  Morrissey 's  "mug,"  the  result  would 
have  been  different.  I  shall  always  censure  the 
Hon.  Aaron  Jones,  albeit  he  is  a  high-toned  gentleman, 
for  throwing  up  the  sponge  at  the  time  he  did.  Mor 
rissey  was  nearly  as  far  gone  as  Heenan,  and  the 
latter  should  have  been  brought  to  the  scratch,  and 
kept  there.  Heenan  should  not  have  peeled  unless  he 
intended  to  conquer  or  die.  This  pretending  to  be  a 
feller  unless  you  are  one  don't  suit  me.  Let  my 
young  readers  ponder  this  well.  Morrissey  and 
Heenan  are  both  young  and  if  they  take  care  of  them- 

[48] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

selves  I  think  they  have  a  brilliant  future  before  them. 
But  to  the  subject  proper: 

"'Prize-fighting  was  an  institution  as  early  as  1602. 
The  assertion  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  a  late  number 
of  the  Independent  that  the  phrase  "traveling  on  your 
muscle"  originated  with  the  Dutch  of  Tipperary  is 
incorrect.  Wm.  Shakespeare,  a  colored  dramatist  of 
some  note,  wrote  a  temperance  drama  in  1603,  while 
he  was  a  student  at  Oberlin  College,  entitled,  "A 
Glance  at  New  York."  In  this  drama  Lady  Macbeth 
says  to  Claude  Melnotte,  "Wherefore  perspirest  thou 
so?"  "Because,  my  Lady,"  returned  Claude,  "I've 
been  traveling  on  my  muscle."  I  may  add  that 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  the  well-known  author 
of  "Hiawatha"  and  "Old  Bob  Ridley,"  while  traveling 
through  Greece  with  a  load  of  tinware  in  1602,  also 
heard  this  same  expression  used  freely  by  the  peasantry. 
He  has  made  entertaining  mention  of  it  in  his  interest 
ing  "Life  of  the  Broughton  Chicken,  or  the  Hero  of  a 
Hundred  Fights." 

"To  further  convince  my  readers  that  the  prize  ring 
was  an  institution  at  a  very  early  age  I  will  state  that 
Socrates  (or  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  "Sock,") 
acted  as  a  bottle-holder  at  a  very  lively  fight  when  he 
was  only  nineteen  years  of  age. 

"The  Prize  Ring  is  new  in  America,  but  it  must 
grow.  We  have  no  Tom  Sayers  or  Tipton  Slashers, 
it  is  true,  but  we  have  Hyers  and  Heenans,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  many  members  of  our  National 
Congress  who  give  great  promise  of  future  useful 
ness  in  the  Ring,  and  who  are  already  brilliantly 
gifted  in  impromptu  fights.  Let  the  friends  of  civ- 

5  [49] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

ilization  not  despair  of  the  Prize  Ring  in  America. 
No,  not  a  despair!' 

"'DRESS,  ETIQUETTE,   &c. 
BY  GEORGE  A.  BENEDICT 

"'An  elegantly  dressed  and  polished  man  is  my 
especial  admiration.  Whether  I  have  signalized  my 
self  in  this  way  or  not,  modesty  forbids  me  to  say. 
But  I  have  no  sympathy  with  those  men  who  go 
around  with  their  shirt-collars  all  rumpled  up,  who 
recklessly  jam  their  hats  onto  their  heads,  who 
seldom  black  their  boots,  and  who  do  not  keep  their 
hair  properly  oiled  and  brushed.  The  low  and  vulgar 
may  sneer  at  these  things,  but,  gentle  reader,  they 
are  as  indispensable  to  the  real  gentleman  as  the 
bright  day-god  is  to  the  new  -  mown  hay.  Every 
man  should  have  five  suits  of  clothes,  three  of  which 
should  be  broadcloth  with  a  gloss  to  it.  All  should 
read  Chesterfield  the  moment  they  have  mastered  the 
Revised  Statutes  of  Ohio. 

"'Be  polite.  Use  polished  language.  Avoid  vul 
garisms.  How  often  are  my  nerves  shocked  by  hearing 
some  vulgar  person  sing  out,  "How  are  you,  old  Boy!" 
How  much  better  were  it  to  exclaim,  "My  ancient 
youth,  how  fares  it  with  thee?"  Again,  "You  can't 
come  it,  old  hoss!"  Why  not  say,  "You  will  experi 
ence  some  little  difficulty  in  consummating  your 
machinations, thou elderly  equinal quadruped"?  Again, 
"A  dead  cock  in  the  pit."  Rather  say,  "A  defunct 
male  fowl  in  the  parquette."  Avoid  these  boorish 
provincialisms  altogether.  Be  prepared  to  gracefully 

[50] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

remove  your  hat  when  you  enter  the  society  of  ladies 
or  encounter  Federal  Office-holders.  In  a  word,  be 
genteel.  I  should  like  to  continue  these  observations 
to  a  much  greater  length,  as  I  am  paid  by  the  line,  but 
engrossing  duties  prevent  my  so  doing.  I  will  close 
by  presenting  my  readers  with  a  few  valuable  recipes 
for  the  adornment  of  their  persons: 

"'HAIR-OIL. — Take  two  kegs  of  hog's  lard  and  boil 
to  the  consistency  of  mush.  Stir  in  whisky  and 
musk.  Bottle  tight  and  apply  when  hot  with  a 
currycomb. 

"'PERFUMERY. — I  hope  my  readers  appreciate  the 
necessity  of  being  sweet-scented.  Musk  is  an  ex 
quisite  perfume,  the  best,  in  fact.  I  souse  not  only 
my  pocket-handkerchief  in  musk-water  daily,  but  my 
boots  and  overcoat,  also,  and  would  advise  my  readers 
to  adopt  the  same  system.' 

"A  FRAGMENT 

"(It  is  proper  to  state  that  the  following  poem  was 
written  by  Mr.  Benedict  at  an  early  age  of  his  infancy 
and  was  not  intended  for  publication.  It  is,  neverthe 
less,  distinguished  by  very  peculiar  genius. — LOCAL 
ED.  P.  D.) 

"Uncle  Simon  he 
Clum  up  a  tree 

And  looked  round  to  see  what  he  could  see: 
When  present-lee 
Uncle  Jim 

Clum  up  beside  of  him 
And  squatted  down  by  he. 

THE   END. 
[51] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"'ON  THE  EVILS  OF  DANCING 
BY  J.  W.  GRAY 

"Dancing  is  a  great  evil,  and  destroys  more  people 
than  War,  Pestilence,  and  Famine.  Yet  how  many 
thoughtless  people  whirl  in  the  mazy  dance  as  often 
as  two  times  a  week.  To  these  misguided  persons  no 
sounds  are  so  captivating  as  those  made  by  the  men  of 
sin  who  rub  the  hair  of  the  horse  to  the  bowels  of  the 
cat.  These  persons  cannot  sit  down  quietly  of  an 
evening  by  their  firesides,  and  derive  pleasure  from 
reading  Rolllii's  Ancient  History  or  the  Debates  in  the 
Washington  Globe.  They  have  no  taste  for  Tracts 
and  Tax-lists.  Their  minds  are  continually  upon  the 
sinful  dance.  I  say  sinful  dance,  and  say  it  boldly! 
I  have  entertained  these  opinions  from  boyhood.  I 
stand  where  I  always  stood.  When  a  young  child  I 
wrote  the  following  composition  on  the  evils  of  dancing: 

"'"ON  DANCING. — Some  people  think  Dancing  is 
right  but  I  do  not.  I  think  dancing  is  wrong.  People 
who  go  to  balls  lose  their  night's  rest  and  get  up  in  the 
morning  feeling  very  bad  and  cross.  My  advice  to  all 
is  not  to  dance  on  no  occasions  whatsomever." 

"'I  am  no  more  Gray  now  than  I  was  then,  although 
I  am  somewhat  older,  and  time  and  an  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  the  man  who  danced  himself  into  the 
middle  of  next  week  have  only  more  strongly  convinced 
me  of  the  correctness  of  those  views. 

"'The  charge  of  inconsistency  cannot  be  brought 
against  me.  In  the  Daily  Plain  Dealer  of  June  19, 
1776,  I  expressed  these  same  views  in  reply  to  a  scur 
rilous  article  in  the  Herald. 

[52] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

"'Frown  indignantly  upon  the  first  attempt  that  is 
made  to  induce  you  to  dance.  Studiously  avoid  the 
ball-room;  but  if  you  MUST  go  there,  and  you  DO 
dance,  I  entreat  you  to  shake  a  lively  foot.' 

"'ON  THE  ELEPHANT 

(Written  in  childhood.) 

:'The  Elephant  is  the  largest  animal  in  the  world. 
He  eats  hay  and  cakes.  You  must  not  give  the 
Elephant  tobacco,  for  if  you  do  he  will  stamp  his  great 
big  feet  on  you  and  kill  you  dead.  Some  people  think 
the  Elephant  is  the  most  noblest  animal  in  the  world, 
but  as  for  me,  give  me  the  American  Eagle. 

"J.   W.   GRAY  HIS  PEACE.'" 

Many  tales  survive  of  the  Local's  life  in  Cleveland. 
He  kept  the  city  interested  in  his  doings  as  well  as  its 
own.  One  night,  being  too  restless  to  sleep,  he  in 
duced  A.  Minor  Griswold,  his  rival  Local  of  the  Demo 
crat,  to  wander  about  with  him  in  search  of  something 
funny.  Nothing  was  found.  Then  they  recalled  that 
a  rather  eminent  English  elocutionist  had  reached  town, 
and  decided  to  visit  him.  It  was  chilly  and  the  hour 
very  late — or,  rather,  early.  They  located  the  victim's 
room  at  the  hotel  and  pounded  upon  the  panels  until 
admitted.  Inside  they  told  the  shivering  artist  that 
they  were  the  critics  of  two  local  publications  and 
regretted  that  pressure  of  business  compelled  them  to 
call  at  such  an  hour.  He  begged  them  not  to  mention 
it.  They  gravely  asked  if  he  would  oblige  with  some 
samples  of  his  talent.  The  floor  was  cold,  so  he  stood 

[53] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

on  the  bed  and  gave  the  "  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade," 
then  new,  with  as  much  spirit  as  his  chattering  teeth 
would  permit.  He  was  warmly  applauded.  Then 
Artemus  said,  sadly,  that  there  was  one  touching  little 
thing  which,  if  he  could  hear  it  rendered  as  only  the 
artist  could  do  it,  he  would  feel  that  his  life  was  brighter, 
to  wit,  "The  Boy  Stood  on  the  Burning  Deck."  It 
was  reeled  off.  Wiping  his  eyes,  wet  with  mourning 
for  the  fate  of  the  faithful  but  foolish  Casabianca,  he 
bade  the  elocutionist  good  night.  Outside,  the  scamps 
chuckled  with  glee  at  the  thought  of  the  solemn, 
shivering  figure  on  the  bed  and  went  away  comforted. 
They  paid  for  their  joke  with  excellent  notices  and 
kind  attentions  afterward. 

"When  A.  Ward  was  in  Cleveland,"  said  David 
Ross  Locke  (Nasby),  who  had  served  the  Plain  Dealer 
as  compositor  and  reporter,  talking  in  after-years, 
"he  was  the  greatest  man  there.  Nothing  could  be 
done  without  him.  He  was  a  jolly,  jovial  soul  and  a 
true  friend." 

Usually  the  Local  delighted  in  his  daily  task  of  round 
ing  up  Cleveland,  but  sometimes  he  became  weary  of 
the  load,  as  this  paragraph  shows: 

"EDITING. — Before  you  go  for  an  editor,  young  man, 
pause  and  take  a  big  think!  Do  not  rush  into  the 
editorial  harness  rashly.  Look  around  and  see  if 
there  is  not  an  omnibus  to  drive,  some  soil  somewhere 
to  be  tilled,  a  clerkship  on  some  meat-cart  to  be 
filled,  anything  that  is  reputable  and  healthy,  rather 
than  going  for  an  editor,  which  is  hard  business  at  best. 
We  are  not  a  horse,  and  consequently  have  never  been 
called  upon  to  furnish  the  motive  power  for  a  threshing- 

[54] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

machine;  but  we  fancy  that  the  life  of  the  editor,  who 
is  forced  to  write,  write,  write,  whether  he  feels  right 
or  not,  is  much  like  that  of  the  steed  in  question. 
If  the  yeas  and  neighs  could  be  obtained  we  believe 
the  intelligent  horse  would  decide  that  the  threshing- 
machine  is  preferable  to  the  sanctum  editorial." 

He  became  very  intimate  with  the  Griswolds, 
Henrietta,  the  better  half  of  his  rival  Local,  being  a 
bright  and  interesting  young  woman.  Griswold  re 
ceived  two  dollars  a  week  more  pay  than  Artemus, 
which,  presumably,  took  care  of  his  wife,  though 
A.  W.  used  it  as  an  excuse  to  borrow  from  Griswold's 
wardrobe  on  state  occasions.  Mrs.  Griswold,  still 
living  at  Cadott,  Wisconsin,  in  1919,  recalls  his  coming 
one  evening  to  escort  her  to  the  theater  with  his  coat 
closely  buttoned  up  to  his  chin.  When  questioned 
as  to  the  occasion  for  this,  after  much  evasion  he 
admitted  that  his  only  good  shirt  was  in  the  wash. 
"I  told  him  to  go  into  the  bedroom  and  take  one  of 
Mr.  Griswold's  two  clean  ones  or  I  would  not  go  out 
with  him.  'All  right,  Sister  Henrietta,5  was  the  cheer 
ful  reply.  I  always  acted  as  a  sister  toward  him,  doing 
his  small  mending  and  fixing  up.  His  best  coat  was  of 
dark  bottle-green  cloth,  very  short  as  to  sleeves  and 
tight  across  the  back.  His  meager  stock  of  clothes 
was  a  continuous  source  of  comment.  In  after-years, 
when  both  he  and  my  husband  became  prosperous,  we 
had  many  a  laugh  over  the  old  Bohemian  days." 

He  roomed  for  a  good  part  of  his  stay  in  Cleveland 
on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  old  post-office  building,  lo 
cated  on  Water  Street,  with  Jack  Ryder  as  a  com 
panion.  The  windows  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 

[55] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

lake  and  of  the  country  bordering  the  west  bank  of  the 
Cuyahoga,  now  grim  with  smoke-stacks  and  rusty  with 
heaps  of  iron  ore.  Three  or  four  chairs,  a  pine  table, 
and  a  sofa  of  more  than  respectable  age  formed  the 
"sitting-room"  furnishings.  Here  he  did  much  of  the 
work  that  brought  him  fame.  Sunday  was  his  "day 
off,"  in  newspaper  parlance,  and  on  the  mornings  he 
usually  had  a  roomful  of  callers,  who  loafed  and  listened 
to  the  reading  of  comic  copy.  Here  came  Charles  W. 
Coe,  James  F.  Ryder,  John  B.  Lester,  Charles  E. 
Wilson  (cashier  of  the  Plain  Dealer),  George  Hoyt  and 
James  Brokenshire  of  the  staff,  and  other  lights  of  the 
Cleveland  of  that  day.  His  Sunday-school  was  cele 
brated  in  its  way,  the  "teacher"  furnishing  most  of  the 
entertainment  and  usually  overflowing  in  quantity. 
He  liked  to  sermonize  and  discuss  nature  and  phi 
losophy,  usually  in  terms  of  burlesque,  like  this  example, 
provided  by  one  of  his  auditors: 

"It  is  susceptible  of  absolute  proof,"  he  solemnly 
declared,  "that  a  ball  will  run  down  an  inclined  plane, 
and  yet  how  few  people  there  are  who  know  it!  An 
earthern  bowl  dropped  from  the  roof  of  a  three-story 
house,  if  it  strike  a  stone  pavement,  will  be  shattered 
into  many  pieces.  A  bean-pole,  legitimately  used,  is  an 
instrument  of  good,  yet  if  it  be  sharpened  at  one  end 
and  run  through  a  man  it  will  cause  the  most  intense 
pain  and  perhaps  produce  contortions.  The  wick  of  an 
unlighted  candle  may  safely  be  manipulated,  but  if 
you  light  that  wick  and  thrust  your  hand  into  the 
blaze  and  keep  it  there  half  an  hour  a  sensation  of 
excessive  and  disagreeable  warmth  will  be  experienced. 
A  dozen  wrought-iron  nails  may  be  dashed  violently 

[56] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

from  the  steeple  of  a  large  meeting-house  to  a  brick 
sidewalk  and  sustain  no  injury,  but  the  same  experi 
ment  with  a  dozen  clay  pipes  will  result  differently. 

"The  effect  upon  the  sidewalk  in  either  case,  how 
ever,  will  be  the  same.  You  may  lie  down  on  the 
ground  and  let  a  kitten  walk  over  you  with  perfect 
safety,  but  if  you  put  a  heavy  dray-horse  in  the  place 
of  the  kitten  you  will  immediately  experience  a  dis 
agreeable  pressure.  Hasty  pudding  and  milk  are  a 
harmless  diet  if  eaten  moderately,  but  if  you  eat  it 
incessantly  for  six  consecutive  weeks  it  will  produce 
instant  death.  You  gaze  with  indifference  upon  a  bull 
when  he  is  placidly  eating  grass  in  a  pasture,  but  if  the 
animal  becomes  infuriated  and  attempts  to  assist  you 
over  a  rail  fence  with  those  horns  they  immediately 
become  objects  of  a  deep-seated  disgust.  On  the  same 
principle  we  can  easily  hold  in  our  arms  an  infant,  and 
experience  delight  in  doing  so;  but  it  would  be  very 
difficult  for  us  to  perform  a  similar  experiment  with  a 
corpulent  old  gentleman  who  is  in  a  state  of  uncon 
scious  inebriety,  while  the  delight  afforded  by  the  per 
formance  in  this  instance  would  hardly  be  worth  men 
tioning.  All  these  things  seem  wonderful  at  first  blush, 
but  science  makes  them  as  clear  as  clear  can  be." 

These  propositions,  addressed  to  his  visitors  as 
"Mine  Ancient  Pistols,"  were  delivered  with  a  gravity 
that  was  wholly  delicious. 

On  another  occasion  he  read  a  poem  with  this  in 
troduction:  "A  few  weeks  ago,  one  Julian  Czar  Teed 
fell  from  the  belfry  of  the  Methodist  meeting-house  at 
Charndon,  in  Geauga  County.  He  struck  the  roof  in 
his  fall  and  bounded  off  to  the  ground.  Singular  to 

[57] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

say — he  was  not  killed — 'on  the  contrary,  quite  the 
reverse.'  His  fall  was  truly  touching,  but  he  sends  a 
poem  about  it  that  is  much  more  touching  than  his 
fall.  It  seems  that  he  went  into  the  belfry  to  toll  the 
bell  for  a  funeral.  But  here  is  the  poem: 

i 

"In  Charndon,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
Julian  Czar  Teed  to  church  did  go, 
To  swing  the  bell-tongue  to  and  fro, 
To  tell  us  of  the  funeral. 

ii 

"But  soon  we  saw  another  sight, 
For  in  a  fit  Czar  took  a  fright, 
Not  having  all  his  senses  quite, 
He  tumbled  off  the  belfry. 

in 

"A  boy  while  passing  heard  the  sound, 
And  turned  his  head  and  gaped  around, 
Saw  Julian  lying  on  the  ground, 
Smashed  up  extensively. 

IV 

"His  sister  saw  the  awful  sight— 
Her  face  with  terror  soon  turned  white, 
And  running  up  the  hill  told  Dwight, 
Who  threw  his  bottle  with  his  might, 
And  ran  away  most  frantically. 

j 

"While  sprawling  on  the  ground  so  low, 
The  crimson  tide  began  to  flow, 
And  people  running  to  and  fro, 
Cried,  'tis  a  dire  catastrophe. 

VI 

"Wonder  of  wonders  'tis  to  tell, 
No  bones  were  broken  when  he  fell, 
And  now  he's  up  and  doing  well, 
As  he  was  formerly." 
[58] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

Occasionally  he  indulged  in  verse  in  the  local  col 
umns.  In  after-years  he  alluded  modestly  to  this 
talent,  which  he  used  sparingly,  but  insisted  that  upon 
occasion  he  could  "jerk  a  poem  equal  to  any  of  them 
Atlantic  Monthly  fellers."  This  is  a  specimen: 

"LOSS  OF  THE  GOOD  SHIP  POLLY  ANN:  A  PATHETICAL 
NAUTICAL  BALLAD 

i 
"As  the  good  ship  Polly  Ann  was  sailing 

Across  the  briny,  briny  sea, 
She  sprang  a  leak,  and  no  kind  of  bailing 

Could  save  or  could  save  she; 
For  she  went  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea — 

The  sea,  the  sea,  my  boys, 
With  her  cargo,  and  old  Captain  Grives, 

Being  the  total  loss  of  the  good  ship  Polly  Ann  and  fourteen 
hundred  lives. 

II 
"Captain  Grives  was  a  gallant  old  man, 

Gallant,  gallant  was  he; 
He  drank  his  rum  from  a  large  tin  pan, 

Jovial  and  jovial  was  he. 
Says  he,  'My  boys,'  when  the  storm  was  ragin', 

*  Farewell  to  our  friends  and  wives, 
For  we're  goin'  down  in  waters  very  surgin', 

Being  the  total  loss  of  the  good  ship  Polly  Ann  and  fourteen 
hundred  lives!' 

in 
"Then  up  did  speak  the  brave  first  mate, 

And  a  nice-spoken  man  was  he; 
Says  he,  'Ere  we  go  I've  a  suggestion  for  to  make, 
To  make,  to  make,'  says  he; 

'Ere  this  vessel  goes  down  and  we  all  do  sink,' 
'That's  very  well  said,'  says  the  good  Captain  Grives, 
So  he  filled  up  his  pan;  the  brave  seafaring  men  proceeded  to  in 
dividually   and   collectively   imbibe   and   the  unfortunate 
vessel  went  down,  being  the  total  loss  of  the  good  ship 
Polly  Ann  and  fourteen  hundred  lives. 
[59] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

IV 
"Previous  to  which  the  second  mate  he  spoke, 

His  name,  and  his  name  was  Brown; 
He  says,  'With  deep  grief  do  I  very  nearly  choke 

At  the  idea,  the  idea  of  going  down — 
While  ashore  my  Betsy  cleans  the  dishes, 

Likewise  the  spoons  and  the  knives, 
I  shall  be  food  for  the  pesky  old  fishes,' 

And  I  regret  to  say  that  he  was;  being  the  total  loss  of  the 
good  ship  Polly  Ann  and  fourteen  hundred  lives. 

v 
"And  now  young  men  of  high  and  low  degree, 

Your  attention,  your  attention  I  ask; 
Never  leave  the  land  for  a  life  upon  the  sea — 

'Tis  a  very,  a  very  sad  task; 
You'd  far  better  plow,  you'd  far  better  mow, 

Than  to  go,  to  go  for  a  sailor, 
Never  leave  the  land — don't  a  sailing  go, 

For  fear  you  may  suffer  the  same  melancholy  and  harrowing 
fate  that  befell  the  gallant  Captain  Grives,  his  energetic 
and  worthy  crew,  and  the  very  valuable  cargo  on  board 
the  ill-fated  vessel;  being,  as  I  have  already  informed  my 
readers,  the  total  loss  of  the  good  ship  Polly  Ann  and 
fourteen  hundred  lives!" 

Colored  people  always  fascinated  him  and  he  was  a 
frequent  attendant  at  an  assembly-room  on  the  corner 
of  Seneca  and  Champlain  streets,  where  most  of  their 
festivals  were  held.  Here,  too,  came  many  citizens 
of  the  period,  when  the  black  folks  were  the  center 
of  political  interest,  to  patronize  the  fairs  and  suppers 
given  in  aid  of  the  church.  Artemus  rarely  missed 
one  of  these,  though  the  local  editor  of  a  Democratic 
pro-slavery  paper.  In  truth,  he  was  not  a  very  solid 
partizan  and  his  kindly  side  overruled  his  political 
opinions.  He  was  very  generous  with  space  in 
noticing  the  affairs  and  correspondingly  popular  with 

[60] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

the  colored  congregation,  which  worshiped  in  the 
edifice  at  the  corner  of  Ohio  and  Brownell  streets. 
A  revival  here  always  brought  Artemus  to  the 
scene.  The  "flood  of  grace"  thrilled  him,  led  as  it 
was  by  the  fervid  appeals  from  the  pulpit.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  moved  by  an  especial  effort  to  walk 
up  the  aisle  and  give  the  clergyman  a  congratulatory 
hand-shake. 

Besides  the  theater,  the  lecture,  the  concert,  and  the 
circus  in  season  he  liked  to  visit  a  road-house  in  East 
Cleveland  kept  by  a  genial  giant  named  Abner  Mcll- 
rath.  Buggy -rides  in  the  summer  and  sleighing-parties 
in  winter  usually  ended  at  Abner's,  where  there  was 
always  a  good  meal  waiting  and  something  cool  or  hot 
on  the  bar,  according  to  season.  In  summer  there 
was  a  table  under  the  vine-covered  arbor,  and  in  winter 
guests  were  served  in  a  great  room  facing  the  bar, 
where  hickory  logs  blazed  and  crackled  in  the  fireplace, 
while  Abner  added  to  the  solid  entertainment  with  his 
views  on  men  and  things,  cleverly  pumped  by  the  Local, 
to  the  delight  of  the  company.  The  staffs  of  the 
several  newspapers  were  often  gathered  here  as  well 
as  the  pleasant  young  people  of  the  city.  Mcllrath 
owned  a  tame  bear,  with  which  he  was  wont  to  wrestle, 
and  which,  without  success,  he  would  try  to  persuade 
Artemus  to  hold.  Dances  were  held  at  the  inn,  led 
by  John  Van  Olker's  orchestra,  in  which  the  Local 
joined  with  great  energy,  his  long  legs  enabling  him  to 
execute  marvelous  steps. 

The  vagaries  of  the  Local  were  not  relished  by 
Mr.  Gray,  the  editor  and  publisher  of  the  Plain  Dealer. 
His  "stuff"  was  traveling  and  making  the  Plain 

[61] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Dealer  famous,  but  the  repute  of  the  writer  grew  faster 
than  that  of  the  paper,  to  which,  in  the  slow-going 
time,  he  was  something  of  an  embarrassment.  Then 
he  was  none  too  industrious,  and  to  Mr.  Gray,  like 
most  proprietors,  cleverness  was  a  poor  substitute  for 
exertion.  Besides,  there  was  a  strong  intimation  that 
more  salary  would  soon  be  required  than  the  petty 
amount  doled  out  weekly  by  the  cashier,  though  the 
original  ten  dollars  had  been  expanded  to  twelve  dollars, 
and  then  to  fifteen  dollars,  after  two  years  of  service. 
He  refers  to  this  sum  in  a  letter  introducing  a  Cleveland 
friend  to  his  mother,  written  in  more  prosperous  days, 
reading: 

"Mother:  This  is  Charles  W.  Coe,  wno  was  as  much 
my  friend  when  I  was  worth  fifteen  dollars  per  week 


as  now." 


The  idea  of  becoming  a  public  entertainer  was  work 
ing  in  his  mind.  He  made  stray  jottings  of  idle 
thoughts  from  time  to  time,  and,  leaving  some  of 
these  on  his  work-table,  they  were  noted  by  Mr.  Gray, 
who  wanted  to  know  why  they  were  not  in  the  paper. 
When  informed  it  was  material  to  be  used  in  a  lecture, 
he  expressed  his  dissatisfaction  and  also  some  scorn 
at  the  notion  that  his  Local  could  do  anything  success 
ful  in  that  line. 

In  the  fall  of  1860,  through  the  initiative  of  Charles 
Hallock,  later  of  Forest  and  Stream,  Artemus  engaged 
with  Vanity  Fair  in  New  York  to  duplicate  his  copy 
to  its  pages — thereby  to  become  a  pioneer  in  syndi 
cating  humor,  a  present-day  industry  largely  devel 
oped.  He  was  to  get  ten  dollars  for  each  article  so 
reproduced.  This  further  displeased  Mr.  Gray,  who 

[62] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

thought  that  all  outgivings  and  incomings  belonged 
to  the  P.  D. 

The  Local  deemed  Artemus  Ward's  letters  a  by 
product  of  his  own,  to  do  with  as  he  pleased,  and,  as  a 
result  of  the  difference,  cut  off  the  supply.  The 
friction  long  developing  came  to  a  head  at  this  action. 
He  offered  to  remain  and  give  the  paper  his  undivided 
output  for  twelve  hundred  dollars  a  year!  To  this 
Mr.  Gray  would  not  accede.  Wearly  of  the  irksome 
conditions  and  the  poor  pay,  having  perhaps  a  timid 
vision  that  he  belonged  to  a  broader  field,  he  retired 
from  the  Plain  Dealer  with  the  issue  of  Saturday, 
November  10,  1860.  The  column  contained  a  fare 
well  note,  reading: 

"VALE 

"The  undersigned  closes  his  connection  with  the 
PLAIN  DEALER  with  this  evening's  issue.  During  the 
three  years  that  he  has  contributed  to  these  columns 
he  has  endeavored  to  impart  a  cheerful  spirit  to  them. 
He  believes  it  is  far  better  to  stay  in  the  Sunshine 
while  we  may,  inasmuch  as  the  Shadow  must  of  its 
own  accord  come  only  too  soon.  He  cannot  here,  in 
fit  terms,  express  his  deep  gratitude  to  the  many,  in 
cluding  every  member  of  the  Press  of  Cleveland,  who 
have  so  often  manifested  the  most  kindly  feeling  toward 
himself.  But  he  can  very  sincerely  say  that  their 
courtesy  and  kindness  will  never  be  forgotten. 

"The  undersigned  may  be  permitted  to  flatter  him 
self  that  he  has  some  friends  among  the  readers  of 
newspapers.  May  we  meet  again! 

"CHARLES  F.  BROWN." 

[63] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

The  Plain  Dealer  itself,  bade  him  good-by  in  kindly 
terms : 

"Our  associate,  Mr.  Brown,  has  had  a  'louder  call,' 
as  the  Reverends  would  say,  and  goes  to  a  larger 
city,  where  he  can  enlarge  his  sphere  of  usefulness. 
To  do  the  Locals  for  a  daily  paper  in  a  city  like  this  is  a 
drudgery,  cramping  to  such  a  genius  as  his,  and  we 
cannot  blame  him  for  aspiring  to  a  higher  position.  It 
is  the  lot  of  our  Locals  to  rise  in  the  world.  Bouton 
built  himself  such  a  reputation  while  with  us  that  he 
went  to  New  York  and  is  now  the  City  Editor  of  the 
Journal  of  Commerce.  McLaren,  another  Local,  is  now 
preaching  the  gospel;  and  Brown  is  destined  to  be 
come  either  a  minister  or  an  author,  perhaps  both. 
Our  relations  are  now  and  always  have  been  of  the 
most  agreeable  kind,  and  we  part  with  him  with  many 
regrets." 

His  rivals  in  the  local  field  bade  him  generous,  re 
gretful  farewells,  that  in  the  Herald  of  the  same  morn 
ing  reading: 

"  GOOD-BY,  ARTEMUS. — We  understand  that  the 
connection  of  Mr.  C.  F.  Brown  with  the  Plain  Dealer 
terminates  this  evening.  Mr.  Brown,  we  learn,  in 
tends  removing  to  New  York,  where  he  has  an  en 
gagement  as  contributor  to  Vanity  Fair,  in  whose 
columns  he  will  continue  his  celebrated  'Artemus 
Ward'  letters. 

"As  a  writer  of  spicy  paragraphs  and  humorous 
articles,  Mr.  Brown  has  won  wide-spread  and  de 
served  celebrity,  and  we  congratulate  him  on  the 
prospect  of  more  extensive  remunerative  fame  which 
lies  before  him.  At  the  same  time  we  shall  miss  him 

[64] 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

from  the  corps  of  Cleveland  journalists  with  regret. 
For  the  past  three  years  we  have  been  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  him,  and,  though  attached  to  rival 
journals,  our  acquaintance  has  always  been  of  the 
most  friendly  nature.  Though  often  firing  *  paper 
bullets  of  the  brain '  at  each  other,  never,  to  our  knowl 
edge,  was  one  of  them  winged  with  malicious  purpose. 
Mr.  Brown  has  won  many  personal  friends  in  this 
city,  but  none  who  will  more  sincerely  regret  his  de 
parture  than  we  do,  or  more  heartily  wish  him  success 
in  his  future  career." 

The  Leader  echoed  the  sentiment  on  the  same  date, 
saying: 

"FROM  CLEVELAND  TO  NEW  YORK. — Charles  F. 
Brown,  the  original  and  genuine  Artemus  Ward,  who 
for  three  years  has  given  spice,  life,  and  celebrity  to  the 
Cleveland  Plain  Dealer,  has  dissolved  his  connection 
with  that  paper,  and  is  about  to  remove  to  New  York, 
where  he  will  write  exclusively  for  Vanity  Fair,  the 
Punch  of  America.  We  cannot  let  him  go  without  a 
slight  but  hearty  recognition  of  kindly  feelings  for  him, 
expressed,  not  simply  for  ourself,  but  in  behalf  of  the 
people  of  Cleveland  who  have  known  him  as  a  genial 
companion,  a  kind-hearted  citizen,  and  a  dashing, 
humorous  writer.  His  *  letters'  have  been  read  and 
laughed  over  far  and  wide,  and  will  now  be  still  more 
widely  circulated. 

"Charlie,  we  are  sorry  to  say  good-by,  but  we  know 
you  won't  forget  Cleveland,  and  you  won't  be  above 
your  old  friends.  You  will  live,  as  you  have  lived  in 
Cleveland,  upon  the  injunction  of  your  own  Artemus, 
'If  you  would  be  virtuous,  be  happy,'  and  in  so  doing 

6  [65] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

you  will  win  and  keep  lots  of  friends.  We  shall  miss 
you  here  upon  the  reportorial  and  editorial  staff, 
but  you  will  have  a  pleasanter  berth  than  life  upon  a 
daily  newspaper  will  ever  afford. 

"You  have  worked  your  way  high  up  the  slippery 
side-hill  of  success;  go  on  and  reach  a  higher  point,  and 
then,  when  you  can  stop  and  take  a  pleasant  backward 
view  over  the  valley  of  mediocrity,  and  rest  awhile  in 
one  of  the  arbors  prepared  for  the  delectation  of  those 
who  have  toiled  well  and  fought  bravely,  none  will  be 
more  ready  to  take  you  by  the  hand  and  cry  you  good 
speed  than  those  who  have  known  you  here,  and  the 
'we'  who  writes  these  lines." 

Though  but  three  years  in  the  employ  of  the  Plain 
Dealer,  he  had  so  thoroughly  identified  himself  with 
the  paper  as  to  be  a  permanent  asset  in  its  repute, 
and  so  endeared  himself  to  the  community  that  his 
memory  remains  in  lasting  affection.  The  bust  carved 
by  Geflowski  stands  to-day  in  the  magnificent  home 
built  for  the  Plain  Dealer  by  the  late  Liberty  E. 
Holden,  under  whose  ownership  and  with  the  guidance 
of  Elbert  H.  Baker  the  paper  has  become  one  of  the 
great  journals  of  the  world.  Curiously,  Mr.  Holden 
came  from  Sweden,  Oxford  County,  Maine,  the  next 
town  to  the  west  from  Waterford,  A.  W.'s  birthplace, 
and  their  boyhood  days  ran  parallel.  Joseph  W.  Gray 
died  in  1862,  and  by  another  coincidence  in  relation 
ship,  William  W.  Armstrong,  who  had  first  employed 
Artemus  in  Tiffin,  became  the  Plain  Dealer's  owner  in 
1866,  continuing  until  Mr.  Holden  and  his  associates 
acquired  the  property  in  1885.  The  latter  established 
a  morning  edition  March  16th  of  that  year,  and  July 

[661 


BOHEMIAN    DAYS 

15,  1905,  extinguished  the  evening  issue.     It  is  now 
the  only  morning  paper  in  Cleveland. 

Cleveland  attentions  to  A.  W.  have  been  many. 
He  figures  in  all  local  histories.  James  F.  Ryder's 
book  Voightlander  and  I  in  Pursuit  of  Shadow-Catching 
gives  him  a  full  chapter.  The  Rowfant  Club  issued  a 
volume  of  his  letters  to  Charles  E.  Wilson,  cashier  of 
the  Plain  Dealer,  during  his  time  with  the  paper,  in 
1900,  and  the  journalists  of  the  city  have  an  Artemus 
Ward  Press  Club.  The  table  and  chair  used  by  him 
in  the  editorial-rooms  of  the  Plain  Dealer  are  preserved 
in  the  Museum  of  the  Western  Reserve  Historical 
Society,  together  with  the  original  of  the  cartoon 
drawn  by  George  Hoyt,  his  associate  on  the  paper, 
depicting  the  showman  and  his  kangaroo. 


IV 


NEW  YORK — "VANITY  FAIR" 

WHILE    the    purpose   to  invade  New  York,   as 
stated  in  the  farewells,  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  the  adventurer  had  no  engagement  with  Vanity 
Fair,  beyond  the  ten-dollar  weekly  letter,  and  he  did 
not  at  once  take  the  direct  road  for  the  metropolis, 
but  became  advance  agent  and  business  associate  with 
Ossian  E.  Dodge,  who  gave  a  musical  melange  on  the 
circuit.     He  was  to  arrange  dates,  help  out  on  the 
stage  when  need  be,  and  receive  twenty -five  dollars  per 
week  for  his  services  on  a  tour  which  ran  across  Ohio, 
Indiana,  and  Illinois.     Dodge  had  years  before  ele 
vated   himself   into   public   notice   by   becoming   the 
highest  bidder  for  a  ticket  to  Jenny  Lind's  first  concert 
in  Boston,  paying  six  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars 
in  a  fierce  competition.     He  then  caused  to  issue  a 
lithograph  showing  the  unctuous  P.  T.  Barnum,  the 
song-bird's  manager,  gracefully  introducing  the  lady 
to  Ossian  E.  Dodge.     This  prominence  gave  him  a 
considerable  vogue,  which  was  on  the  wane  when  Ar- 
temus  Ward  joined  his  fortunes.     According  to  J.  T. 
Trowbridge,  who  held  his  hat  for  him  in  Boston  at 
the  time  of  the  Lind  auction,  Dodge  was  "a  singer  of 
comic  songs  and  a  giver  of  entertainments  in  which 
he  was  the  sole  performer.     His  comic  powers  consisted 
largely  in  grotesque  grimaces,  and  the  feats  of  a  voice 
that  could  go  down  and  down  into  the  very  sepulchers 

[68] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR" 

of  basso  profundo,  until  the  hearer  wondered  in  what 
ventriloquial  caverns  it  would  lose  itself  and  become  a 
ghost  of  sound." 

Artemus  started  on  what  was  to  oe  a  brief  venture, 
gaily  enough.  He  was  first  heard  from  at  Lima,  Ohio, 
under  date  of  December  7th,  when  he  wrote  thus  to  his 
friend  Charles  E.  Wilson: 

"Send  all  letters,  papers,  etc.,  that  may  have  come 
to  me  at  Russell  House,  Detroit,  immediately.  I 
presume  that  Vanity  Fair  has  sent  you  $20.  Please 
write  me  at  Detroit  immediately,  giving  all  the  news. 
Have  had  a  first-rate  time,  but  may  want  you  to  send 
that  on  soon.  Will  see  at  Detroit,  and  will  write  you 
from  there." 

The  twenty  dollars  was  due  on  the  first  two  letters 
to  Vanity  Fair,  "Artemus  Ward  Visits  Brigham 
Young"  and  the  profound  essay  on  "Forts."  Wilson 
replied  at  once,  with  "all  the  news,"  among  other  items 
of  which  was  the  fact  that  Griswold  had  taken  his  place 
in  the  office.  He  replied  from  Detroit,  December  llth: 

''Your  favor  with  several  other  favors  reached  me 
this  evening,  and  were  most  gladly  read.  A  man 
don't  know  how  good  letters  are  until  he  is  among 
strangers,  tho.  I  am  scarcely  among  strangers,  after 
all.  I  find  friends  all  around — enthusiastic  ones. 
Here  they  are  very  numerous. 

"Vanity  Fair  should  send  you  $20.  I  shall  write 
him  again.  I  think  Derby  &  Jackson  will  publish  for 
me.  Since  I  left  Cleveland  I  have  had  several  over 
tures  from  N.  Y.  publishing-houses — or,  rather,  I  found 
letters  from  several  on  my  arrival  here.  I  shall  go  on 
in  about  a  month — perhaps  less. 

[69] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"I  have  a  letter  from  my  mother.  She  is  deeply 
afflicted,  as  I  anticipated,  and  her  troubles  are  more  nor 
what  she  can  endure.  She  has  been  this  way  before 
and  I  guess  she'll  come  out  all  straight.  She  says  she 
hasn't  received  a  single  paper  I  sent  her  containing 
accounts  of  my  presentation,  &c.  For  God's  sake,  if 
you  love  me,  send  her  a  Leader,  Plain  Dealer,  and 
Herald  what  had  said  accounts.  Direct  Mrs.  Caroline 
E.  Brown,  Waterford,  Oxford  County,  Maine.  She 
says  my  papers  probably  went  to  Waterville,  which  I 
cannot  understand.  Please  get  the  direction  right.  I 
am  troubling  you  much,  but  will  repay  if  I  ever  can. 

"I  paid  Hoyt  a  day  or  two  before  I  left.  I  am  cer 
tain  of  this.  I  regret  to  say  that  his  recollection  is  not 
very  clear  in  regard  to  matters  of  this  kind.  I  bor 
rowed  $2.00  of  him  once,  but  when  I  went  to  pay  him 
he  said  he  had  never  loaned  it  to  me!  I  succeeded 
in  forcing  it  upon  him.  He  can  sculp  first  rate,  but 
his  memory  fails  him  in  money  matters.  As  for 
McGuire,  tell  him  the  Panic  has  got  me,  and  that  I 

ain't  worth  a  d or  a  dollar.  Tell  him  there  is 

some  mistake  about  it. 

"I  have  advertised  Dodge  big  here.  He  told  me  to 
sink  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  have  sunk  it. 
If  anybody  can  sink  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  quicker 
than  I  can,  I  should  like  to  see  him.  In  some  respects 
this  trip  will  do  me  good.  I  feel  more  healthy  and  I 
have  formed  many  valuable  acquaintances.  I  will 
write  you  again  from  Jackson  or  'long  there  somewhere. 
I  shall  write  to  Vanity  Fair  at  once,  about  money. 
Love  to  Less.  Who  copies  the  Wards  in  the  Plain 
Dealer?" 

[70] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR" 

Like  the  very  prudent  New  England  person  that  she 
was,  his  mother  was  naturally  "upset"  at  his  departure 
from  a  regular  job  and  feared  a  period  of  instability 
with  incidental  hardships.  It  is  to  this  that  he  refers 
in  his  note.  She  had  visited  him  at  Cleveland  and 
was  pleased  with  his  friends,  his  surroundings,  and  his 
position  in  the  town,  so  her  disturbance  was  quite 
natural. 

Dodge  was  very  "near"  in  money  affairs,  and  his 
advance  agent  was  not  well  furnished  with  funds  for 
his  own  use.  The  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  seems 
to  have  been  sunk  too  deep  for  rescue.  What  blew  up 
the  relationship  is  not  revealed,  but  the  period  of  road 
work  soon  ended.  A  letter  to  Wilson  from  Chicago, 
dated  December  2£d,  tells  of  the  parting: 

"I  have  cut  loose  from  the  Concert  business.  I 
packed  Dodge's  baggage  very  carefully  at  Niles  yester 
day,  had  it  safely  stored  away  subject  to  his  order, 
wrote  him  that  sickness  in  my  family  demanded  my 
immediate  presence  at  home,  and  came  on  here  last 
night.  On  the  cars  I  encountered  the  Chicago  Acad 
emy  of  Science,  some  100  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who 
were  returning  from  an  excursion  to  Ann  Arbor. 
They  made  an  immense  splurge  over  me  and  elected 
me  an  honorary  member  of  the  society  amidst  'loud 
applause.'  I  returned  thanks  in  a  'few  brief  re 
marks.'  The  Chicago  papers  will  doubtless  have  ac 
counts  of  it.  The  Society  is  composed  of  eminent 
geologists,  astronomers,  etc. — first-rate  people.  Devil 
ish  pretty  girls  among  them,  too.  I  go  to  Pittsburgh 
on  Monday — thence  to  Philadelphia  and  thence  to 
New  York.  I  have  money  enough  for  the  present  but 

[71] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

may  want  you  to  send  on  the  Vanity  Fair  fund  (I  take 
it  for  granted  Stephens  has  sent  you  pay  for  three 
letters)  at  Pittsburgh.  I  will  write  you  from  that 
place.  Just  write  me  at  once,  please,  at  Pittsburgh, 
care  of  Chronicle  office,  giving  all  the  news,  but  don't 
send  the  money  until  I  write  for  it. 

"You  know  what  a  vindictive  devil  Dodge  is,  and  I 
expect  he  will  raise  a  jolly  breeze  over  my  leaving 
him,  tho.  I  can't  see  wherein  I  have  acted  dishonorably. 
I  rely  on  your  assistance  in  setting  me  right  before  my 
Cleveland  friends,  provided  Dodge  (as  he  may)  tries 
to  make  them  think  I  acted  dishonorably  toward  him. 
But  the  folly — the  madness,  of  continuing  with  him 
grew  every  day  more  and  more  apparent,  and  I 
determined  to  cut  loose  at  all  hazards.  If  he  is 
wise  he  will  be  satisfied  with  the  explanation  I  gave 
him.  All  this  is,  of  course,  strictly  confidential,  be 
tween  you  and  me. 

"I  have  had  a  nice  time  during  my  trip.  Have 
made  many  valuable  friends,  seen  a  new  and  splendid 
country,  and  picked  up  withal  numerous  good  things. 
My  last  letter  in  Vanity  ('Seeing  Forrest')  was  rather 
flat,  but  I  think  my  next  one  will  be  fair.  It  should 
appear  next  week. 

"How  are  things  in  Cleveland?  What's  the  news 
generally?  Love  to  Less — be  sure  and  write  me  at 
Pittsburgh  on  receipt  of  this." 

At  Pittsburgh  he  fell  in  with  Sanford's  minstrels 
and,  putting  on  burnt  cork  and  thumbing  a  stringless 
banjo,  he  sat  in  the  horseshoe  and  chaffed  the  end-men, 
to  the  delight  of  the  audience,  then  headed  for  New 
York,  via  Philadelphia.  His  further  adventures  are 

[72] 


NEW    YORK-     'VANITY    FAIR' 

described  in  a  letter  written  to  Wilson  from  New  York 
on  January  2,  1861: 

"I  got  your  letter  and  those  you  forwarded  at 
Pittsburgh.  From  Pittsburgh  I  went  to  Philadelphia, 
where  I  met  Dixey  of  Sanford's  troupe,  who  made  me 
stay  two  days  with  him  at  his  house.  He  lives  in 
elegant  style,  has  a  nice  wife  and  little  girl,  and  al 
together  I  never  spent  a  happier  two  days.  All  the 
railroad  fare  I  had  to  pay  between  Chicago  and  New 
York  was  seventy-five  cents  from  Brunswick,  N.  J. 
The  conductor  to  that  point  'deadheaded'  me  at  the 
special  request  of  S.  S.  Sanford,  'delineator  of  negro 
character.'  So  you  see  it  is  a  good  thing  sometimes  to 
have  friends  among  'nigger  singers.'  In  addition  to 
this  good  luck  I  must  mention  that  Ed.  Bacon,  for 
merly  C.  &  P.  R.  R.  and  now  general  ticket-agt.  at 
Pittsburgh,  gave  me  a  diamond  ring  worth  sixty  dollars 
when  I  parted  with  him.  Well,  here  I  am  at  last.  I 
arrived  at  four  o'clock  Tuesday  morning  and  went  to 
bed.  Got  up  at  one  and  went  up-town.  Couldn't  see 
anybody  and  felt  blue.  Went  to  bed  early.  Got  up 
this  morning  and  went  to  Vanity  Fair  office.  Good 
fellows — glad  to  see  me.  Talked  ten  minutes  with 
them  and  made  a  permanent  engagement  at  twenty 
dollars  a  week  as  one  of  the  editors  of  the  paper. 
Mr.  Leland  is  editor-in-chief.  First-rate  fellow,  I 
judge.  I  am  to  be  there  promptly  at  ten  o'ck  A.M. 
and  go  away  at  half  past  three.  I  am  to  read  all  the 
exchanges  and  cut  out  everything  of  which  anything 
can  be  made.  Am  to  write  what  I  want  to  and 
'Wards'  when  I  feel  like  it.  As  you  will  see,  this  will 
consume  only  a  small  portion  of  my  time,  and  I  can 

[73] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

doubtless  make  ten  dollars  or  so  a  week  extra  writing 
for  other  papers.  At  least,  I  am  told  I  can.  I  shall 
board  where  I  now  am  (the  Western  Hotel)  for  the 
present — seven  dollars  a  week  with  good  room.  I 
think  I  can  live  cheaper  than  this  when  I  learn  the 
ropes,  but  the  landlord  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine 
and  will  treat  me  princely.  I  am  already  on  the  free- 
list  at  the  minstrels  and  circus.  Shall  ' fetch'  the 
theaters  directly.  ...  I  have  thus  told  you  all  about 
myself.  I  am  certainly  a  lucky  cuss.  I  don't  under 
stand  it  myself,  but  it  is  so.  Things  are  new  to  me 
here  now,  and  I  shall  proceed  cautiously.  But  as  soon 
as  I  get  started  I  will  make  things  whizz,  so  to  speak. 
I  intend  to  know  everybody  on  Broadway  in  about 
six  months.  I  shall  withhold  my  book  for  the  present, 
until  the  d — d  panic  subsides.  Have  you  heard  from 
Dodge  yet?  Is  he  'howling'  anywhere  yet?  I  shall 
write  him  a  long,  explanatory  letter  to-morrow. 

"I  am  speaking  of  myself  principally  in  this  letter, 
I  see,  but  I  know  you  feel  an  interest  in  my  movements 
and  I  feel  so  elated  over  my  prosperity  that  I  can't 
restrain  a  little  self-satisfaction.  Give  my  love  to 
Lester.  Tell  him  he's  a  splen'  feller  from  a  legal  point 
of  view.  I  have  heard  of  him  in  foreign  lands.  Won't 
you  have  this  notice  published  in  the  Plain  Dealer? 

"'CHARLES  F.  BROWN. — This  gentleman,  widely 
known  as  the  former  local  editor  of  this  paper,  has  at 
last  reached  New  York  and  joined  the  editorial  staff 
of  Vanity  Fair!9 

"As  I  don't  like  to  make  the  request  myself,  I  will 
feel  obliged  if  you  will  copy  the  above  and  hand  it  in." 

The  notice  appeared  in  the  Plain  Dealer,  and  Cleve- 

[74] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

land  was  for  the  first  time  apprised  of  his  whereabouts. 
He  could  have  joined  the  rosy  fortunes  of  the  New 
York  Ledger  had  he  wished.  Robert  Bonner,  its  pros 
perous  proprietor,  offered  him  what  was  then  a  hand 
some  sum  for  a  weekly  letter  from  the  showman. 
He  very  wisely  declined.  "I  needed  the  money  badly," 
he  said  afterward,  "and  the  offer  was  tempting,  but 
I  wasn't  fool  enough  to  accept  it.  To  try  to  grind  out 
an  Artemus  Ward  column  each  week  would  have  re 
sulted  in  the  dreariest  drivel  and  would  have  ruined 
forever  what  little  reputation  I  had  made." 

In  truth,  he  was  not  constituted  to  produce  humor 
as  a  trade.  With  him  it  was  spontaneous,  effervescing, 
bubbling  without  effort,  seeming  often  to  repress  more 
than  was  allowed  to  escape.  There  was,  too,  perhaps, 
a  desire  to  stand  alone  and  not  compete  with  the 
vivid  romance  in  the  Ledger.  For  one  thing,  he  may 
have  had  a  lurking  spite  against  Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr., 
the  Ledger's  chief  contributor.  Cobb's  father  was  a 
native  of  Norway,  Maine,  and  the  great  Sylvanus 
made  the  town  his  home  for  the  decade  in  which  both 
he  and  Artemus  were  rising  stars.  That  he  had  some 
feeling  in  his  mind — perhaps  the  relic  of  a  boyhood 
snub — is  shown  in  the  showman's  frequent  references  to 
Cobb,  in  one  of  which,  when  under  the  undue  excite 
ment  roused  by  an  overload  of  New  England  rum,  he 
knocked  a  small  boy  down,  picked  his  pocket  of  a 
New  York  Ledger,  and  "wildly  commenced  reading 
Sylvanus  Cobb's  last  Tail." 

Vanity  Fair  had  been  established  December  31, 
1859,  by  Frank  J.  Thompson,  as  a  comic  weekly,  with 
Louis  H.  Stephens  as  publisher,  something  on  the 

F75  1 


AliTEMUS    WARD 

lines  of  the  London  Punch,  which  it  resembled  in  form 
and  make-up.  William  A.  Stephens  was  editor; 
Henry  L.  Stephens,  art  editor.  New  York  of  the  day 
possessed  a  sort  of  literary  Bohemia,  where  bright 
souls  burned  themselves  out  as  fast  as  the  strength 
of  their  constitutions  would  permit.  A  lively  group  of 
these  centered  in  the  office  of  Vanity  Fair,  to  which 
they  contributed  everything  but  prosperity.  Seeking 
to  evade  frowning  disaster,  Mr.  Stephens  engaged 
Charles  Godfrey  Leland,  then  a  latent  "Hans  Breit- 
mann,"  whose  fame  had  not  come  forth,  but  who 
had  been  in  charge  of  P.  T.  Barnum's  ill-fated  Illustrated 
News,  and  had  earned  a  status  as  an  editor  on  the 
Philadelphia  Bulletin.  He  took  firm  charge  of  Vanity 
Fair,  to  the  disgust  of  Bohemia.  This  is  Mr.  Leland's 
own  version  of  Artemus  Ward's  coming,  taken  from 
his  autobiography: 

"Und  noch  weiter.  There  was  published  in  New 
York  at  that  time  (1860)  an  illustrated  comic  weekly 
called  Vanity  Fair.  There  was  also  in  the  city  a  kind 
of  irregular  club  known  as  the  Bohemians,  who  had 
been  inspired  by  Murger's  novel  of  that  name  to 
imitate  the  life  of  its  heroes.  They  met  every  evening 
at  a  lager-beer  restaurant  kept  by  a  German  named 
Pfaff .  For  a  year  or  two  they  made  a  great  sensation 
in  New  York.  Their  two  principal  men  were  Henry 
Clapp  and  Fitz-James  O'Brien.  Then  there  were 
Frank  Wood  and  George  Arnold,  W.  Winter,  C.  Gar- 
dette,  and  others.  Wood  edited  Vanity  Fair,  and  all 
the  rest  contributed  to  it.  There  was  some  difficulty 
or  other  between  Wood  and  Mr.  Stephens,  the  gerant 
of  the  weekly,  and  Wood  left,  followed  by  all  the  clan. 

[76] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

I  was  called  in  in  the  emergency,  and  what  with 
writing  myself,  and  the  aid  of  R.  H.  Stoddard,  T.  B. 
Aldrich,  and  a  few  more,  we  made  a  very  creditable 
appearance  indeed.  Little  by  little  the  Bohemians  all 
came  back,  and  all  went  well. 

"Now  I  must  here  specify,  for  good  reasons,  that  I 
held  myself  very  strictly  aloof  from  the  Bohemians, 
save  in  business  affairs.  This  was  partly  because  I 
was  married,  and  I  never  saw  the  day  in  my  life  when 
to  be  regarded  as  a  real  Bohemian  vagabond,  or  shift 
less  person,  would  not  have  given  me  the  horrors.  I 
would  have  infinitely  preferred  the  poorest  settled 
employment  to  such  life.  I  mention  this  because  a 
very  brilliant  and  singular  article  entitled  'Charles  G. 
Leland  1'ennemi  des  Allemands'  (this  title  angered  me), 
which  appeared  in  the  Rev ue  des  Deux  Mondes  in  1871, 
speaks  of  me  by  implication  as  a  frequenter  of  PfafFs, 
declaring  that  I  there  introduced  Artemus  Ward  to 
the  Bohemian  brotherhood,  and  that  it  was  entirely 
due  to  me  that  Mr.  Browne  was  brought  out  before 
the  American  world.  This  is  quite  incorrect.  Mr. 
Browne  had  made  a  name  by  two  or  three  very  popular 
sketches  before  I  had  ever  seen  him.  But  it  is  very 
true  that  I  aided  him  to  write,  and  suggested  and  en 
couraged  the  series  of  sketches  which  made  him 
famous,  as  he  himself  frankly  and  generously  declared, 
for  Charles  Browne^was  at  heart  an  honest  gentleman, 
if  there  ever  was  one;  which  is  the  one  thing  in  life 
better  than  success. 

"Mr.  Stephens,  realizing  that  I  needed  an  assistant, 
and  observing  that  Browne's  two  sketches  of  the 
Showman's  letter  and  the  Mormons  had  made  him 

[77] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

well  known,  invited  him  to  take  a  place  in  our  office. 
He  was  a  shrewd,  na'if,  but  at  the  same  time  modest 
and  unassuming  young  man.  He  was  a  native  of 
Maine,  but  familiar  with  the  West.  Quiet  as  he 
seemed,  in  three  weeks  he  had  found  out  everything 
in  New  York.  I  could  illustrate  this  by  a  very  ex 
traordinary  fact,  but  I  have  not  space  for  everything. 
I  proposed  to  him  to  continue  his  sketches.  'Write,' 
I  said,  'a  paper  on  the  Shakers.'  He  replied  that  he 
knew  nothing  about  them.  I  had  been  at  Lenox, 
Massachusetts,  where  I  had  often  gone  to  New  Lebanon, 
and  seen  their  strange  worship  and  dances,  and  while 
on  the  Illustrated  News  had  had  a  conference  with  their 
elders  on  an  article  on  the  Shakers.  So  I  told  him 
what  I  knew,  and  he  wrote  it,  making  it  a  condition 
that  I  would  correct  it.  He  wrote  the  sketch,  and 
others.  He  was  very  slow  at  composition,  which 
seemed  strange  to  me,  who  was  accustomed  to  write 
everything  as  I  now  do,  currente  calamo  (having  written 
all  these  memoirs,  so  far,  within  a  month — more  or 
less,  and  certainly  very  little  more).  From  this  came 
his  book. 

"When  he  wrote  the  article  describing  his  imprison 
ment,  there  was  in  it  a  sentence,  'Jailor,  I  shall  die 
unless  you  bring  me  something  to  eat!'  In  the  proof 
we  found,  'I  shall  die  unless  you  bring  something  to 
talk.'  He  was  just  going  to  correct  this,  when  I  cried, 
'For  Heaven's  sake,  Browne,  let  that  stand.  It's  best 
as  it  is!'  He  did  so,  and  so  the  reader  may  find  it  in 
his  work." 

There  is  an  after-memory  of  Artemus  in  Leland's 
Ballads,  where,  in  a  rhymed  account  of  a  printing- 

[78] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

office  dispute  over  the  meaning  of  Breitmann's  verse, 
only  one  voice  was  lifted  in  its  favor,  that  of  the  proof 
reader,  who  asserted  his  view  thus: 

Den  a  proof-sheet  veller  respondered, 

For  he  dink  de  dings  vos  hard, 
"Dat  is  shoost  like  de  goot  oldt  lady 

Ash  vent  to  hear  Artemus  Ward 

"TJnd  say  it  vas  shame  de  beople 

Vas  laugh  demselfs  most  tead 
At  de  boor  young  veller  lecturin' 

Vhen  he  tidn't  know  vot  he  said." 

The  office  of  Vanity  Fair  was  located  at  100  Nassau 
Street.  Subsequently  it  removed  to  No.  116  on  the 
same  thoroughfare,  where  it  finished  its  career.  The 
new  editor's  duties  were  considerable.  He  handled 
"copy,"  furnished  head-lines — very  good  ones — wrote 
odd  jokes,  improved  others,  and  searched  the  exchanges 
for  points.  The  paper  usually  consisted  of  twelve 
two-column  quarto  pages,  twelve  by  sixteen  inches. 
The  make-up  and  typography  were  neat  and  the  illus 
trations,  mainly  by  Henry  L.  Stephens  and  Edward  F. 
Mullen,  of  the  very  best  grade  of  comic  art.  These 
were  carefully  engraved  on  wood  by  Bobbett  and 
Hooper,  famous  workers  in  their  line.  The  policy 
of  the  paper,  at  this  distance,  seems  to  have  been 
most  sane  and  orderly.  During  the  period  of  secession 
and  before  the  outbreak  of  hostilities  it  reprehended 
the  extremists  on  both  sides.  Where  it  failed  was  in 
its  refusal  to  accept  slavery  as  an  issue  and  in  its 
appeal  to  good  humor  and  common  sense  in  seeking 
to  ward  off  the  crisis.  Vanity  Fair  wanted  to  save  the 

[79] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

country  by  getting  rid  of  the  fire-eating  Southern 
politician  and  side-tracking  the  negro — an  impossible 
solution,  as  the  event  proved. 

In  a  second  letter  to  Wilson,  dated  January  9th, 
the  adventurer  grows  exultant  over  the  rapidity  with 
which  things  were  coming  his  way: 

"The  letter  I  sent  you  several  days  since  doubtless 
reached  you  and  I  hope  to  get  an  answer  shortly.  I 
now  write  to  ask  you  to  hunt  up,  cut  out,  and  send  me 
my  burlesque  description  of  the  play  of  'John  Brown,' 
which  was  brought  out  about  a  year  since,  I  think  at 
the  Cleveland  Theater.  Send  also  in  same  letter  the 
check  Stephens  sent  to  you.  I  want  to  bank  an  even 
hundred  here  as  a  reserve  fund,  and  find  I  am  short 
that  amount  (ten  dollars). 

"My  book  will  positively  appear  in  the  spring,  pub 
lished  by  Derby  &  Jackson,  498  Broadway,  and  un 
questionably  the  best  house  in  the  city.  They  sent 
their  agent  to  me  almost  as  soon  as  I  reached  the  city, 
and  to-day  I  had  an  interview  with  Mr.  Derby.  I 
have  not  closed  with  him,  but  he  speaks  in  the  most 
encouraging  manner  of  the  enterprise,  and  they  all 
tell  me  he  will  make  me  a  good  offer.  From  his 
anxiety  to  publish  for  me  I  am  confident  he  regards 
the  success  of  the  book  a  sure  thing.  I  showed  him 
Hoyt's  illustrations  and  he  said  they  were  capital — 
better  far  than  those  in  Vanity  Fair.  Tell  Hoyt  this. 
It  was  a  very  high  compliment,  as  Derby  is  con 
fessedly  at  the  head  of  the  book  business  here. 

"I  am  all  right.  Get  along  just  as  easy  as  rolling 
off  a  log.  I  dare  not  tell  you  all  the  fine  things  that 
have  happened  to  me,  for  fear  you  may  think  I  blow, 

[80] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR" 

but  I  certainly  start  out  here  under  brilliant  auspices. 
Instead  of  asking  favors,  they  are  offered  to  me. 
Hence  a  situation  was  offered  me  by  Vanity  Fair  and 
Derby  made  extra  efforts  to  get  me  to  promise  my  book 
to  him.  This  is  pleasant. 

"By  the  way,  Vanity  Fair  is  set  up  by  girls,  and  the 
printing-office  is  next  to  the  editorial-office.  They  are 
devilish  fine  girls,  and  I  took  two  of  them  to  Bryant's 
last  night,  but  I  am  a  man  of  strict  honor.  Write 


soon." 


Bryant's  was  the  famous  home  of  black-faced  min 
strelsy,  then  at  472  Broadway.  Even  at  this  distance 
one  is  inclined  to  envy  the  girls  their  evening's  outing. 
A  postscript  appended  to  this  letter  acknowledges  the 
receipt  of  one  from  Wilson  and  gives  a  little  glimpse 
of  the  friction  with  Gray,  as  it  says:  "It  is  utterly 
unaccountable  to  me  why  Gray  should  have  any  ill- 
feeling  toward  me.  But  let  it  slide.  .  .  .  Since  writing 
the  above  I've  seen  Derby  again.  He  wants  to  see  the 
*  Three  Tigers  of  the  Cleveland  Press.'  Will  you  also 
hunt  that  up  and  send  it?  I  am  a  heap  of  trouble,  I 
know,  but  can't  help  it.  Will  do  as  much  for  you  if 
ever  I  can. 

\rtemus  fitted  instantly  into  the  new  surroundings. 
The  atmosphere  and  the  habits  of  the  city  pleased  him. 
There  was  plenty  of  good  company  from  the  stage, 
the  press,  and  the  pavement.  Writing  to  Wilson,  on 
January  22d,  he  once  more  voices  his  satisfaction: 

"I'll  send  for  my  trunks  soon.  Let  that  slide.  I  am 
now  rooming  with  the  publisher  of  V.  F.  at  No.  28 
East  Twenty-eighth  Street.  We  have  a  parlor,  bath 
room,  closets,  fire,  gas,  and  breakfast  sent  to  room  for 

7  [81] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

four  dollars  a  week  each.  Our  dinners  we  get  down 
town,  a  shilling  getting  a  beefsteak  pie  or  a  piece  of 
baked  beef.  ...  I  mention  these  things  so  that  if  you 
come  on  here  by  and  by  you  will  come  to  the  office  and 
go  home  with  me.  I  can  keep  you  like  a  fighting-cock 
for  a  few  shillings  a  day.  Such  beef  as  we  get  at 
Crook  &  Duff's  you  never  saw  since  God  made  you. 
Tell  Less  I  got  his  papers  and  will  write  him  soon.  He 
is  your  nephew  and  an  ornament  to  his  sex.  I  see 
people  from  the  West  occasionally.  They  come  up  to 
the  office  in  large  numbers  sometimes,  much  to  my 
gratification.  I  am  glad  Alphonsus  is  exerting  him 
self.  A  man  ought  to  for  six  dollars  a  week. 

"I  shall  go  to  Fall  River  Saturday  by  boat.  The 
factory-owners  will  probably  turn  out  and  receive  me 
with  the  band.  Give  my  love  to  J.  B.  Altho'  an 
English  wretch,  he  is  one  of  the  best  men  I  ever  knew, 
and  I  hope  he  will  live  to  expectorate  on  the  tombs  of  all 
his  enemies,  if  he  has  any. 

"Ever  of  thee,          A.  WARD." 

"J.  B."  was  James  Brokenshire,  one  of  the  Plain 
Dealer  staff  with  whom  he  had  dwelt  in  happiness  during 
his  term  with  the  paper.  "Less"  was  John  B.  Lester, 
brother-in-law  of  Senator  John  P.  Jones,  of  Nevada. 
The  trip  to  Fall  River  was  taken  to  meet  his  brother 
Cyrus,  then  holding  an  editorial  position  in  that  city. 

February  2d,  he  wrote  again  to  Wilson,  quite 
cheerily: 

"Your  last  came  duly  to  hand.  I  haven't  seen 
Brown  yet — called  once,  but  he  wasn't  in.  Shall  see 
him  sure. 

[82] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

"Tell  Jule  I  have  'gone  back  on'  suppers,  the  vigor 
ous  meals  I  absorb  at  3  P.M.  daily  being  entirely  ade 
quate  for  my  sustenance.  I  'reach  for  the  bread' 
just  as  I  did  in  the  palmy  days  of  Wilson's  tavern, 
and  pour  out  my  own  tea — scalded  a  waiter  the  other 
night  pretty  bad,  but  he  excused  me. 

"  I  go  East  first  of  March  to  see  Caroline.  Going 
or  coming  I  shall  visit  Willimantic.  Shall  go  to 
'Moosup'  likewise,  as  I  must  see  'Orry'  and  Jenny. 

"Caroline  is  getting  reconciled  to  my  change  of 
location.  Her  late  letters  are  quite  cheerful. 

"Now  I  blush  as  I  write  it — I  feel  that  I  am  coming 
it  altogether  too  strong  on  you — but  do  hunt  up  my 
'  Three  Tigers  of  the  Cleveland  Press '  and  send  it  in  a 
letter.  The  piece  was  not  in  the  bundle  Less  sent. 
The  piece  is  valuable  to  me.  In  short,  without  the  piece 
I  shall  be  unhappy,  and  prithee  send  her  on.  Set  some 
of  the  boys  in  the  mailing  department  to  work  hunting  it 
up,  and  my  children's  children  shall  lisp  your  name 
with  heartfelt  affection.  Bully  boy!  As  I  was  quietly 
taking  some  coffee  and  cakes  with  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  at  Smith's  in  Chatham  Street,  the  other  night, 
after  the  Bowery  was  out,  he  accidentally  alluded  to 
you.  'Wilson,'  says  he,  'is  a  young  man  of  much 
promise.  He  is  a  good  bookkeepist  and  his  balance- 
sheets  are  always  correct.  I  like  Wilson.'  He  also 
spoke  of  Less,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  was  not  very 
complimentary.  'Lester,'  says  Mr.  Beecher,  'will 
come  to  the  gallows  in  about  two  years  if  he  keeps 
on.'  'What  do  you  think  of  Brokenshire,  Henry?'  says 
I.  'A  good  man,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Beecher — 'a  very  good 
man  indeed,  tho'  he's  a  d— d  Englishman.'  On  getting 

[83] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

up,  Mr.  Beecher  insisted  on  allowing  me  to  pay  for  the 
coffee  and  cakes — twelve  cents. 

"I  anticipate  considerable  fun  in  my  forthcoming 
trip  to  the  East,  tho'  my  stay  will  necessarily  be  short. 

"By  the  way,  love  to  the  ever-blooming  Briggs. 
Shall  write  him  soon.  Did  he  get  the  sixteen  million 
dollars  and  box  of  jewels  I  sent  him  the  other  day? 

"Send  the  'Tigers.'  I  shall  soon  cease  troubling 
you,  I  hope.  And  now  farewell.  A  fond  embrace. 
A  few  natural  tears,  and  some  wild  groans!  There, 
there,  it's  over  now.  Adoo!  Adoo!" 

"Caroline"  was  his  mother.  "Jenny"  was  Mr. 
Wilson's  sister,  and  "Orry,"  Doctor  Briggs,  her 
husband. 

Meanwhile,  things  were  not  going  well  with  Vanity 
Fair.  Leland,  who  was  a  strong  abolitionist,  saw  in 
the  rapid  secession  of  the  states  need  of  harsh  dealing 
with  the  "erring  sisters,"  and  wished  to  make  the 
paper  radical  in  its  insistence  on  stern  measures. 
Thompson  and  Stephens,  both  Democrats,  loyal  and 
faithful  to  the  Union,  were  still  hopeful  that  some 
way  out  would  be  found.  Leland's  feelings  came  to  a 
head  on  the  firing  on  Fort  Sumter.  He  resigned  and, 
going  to  Boston,  started  the  Continental  Magazine  with 
the  aid  of  an  "angel"  and  was  radical  to  his  heart's 
content — often  too  much  so  for  the  Lincoln  adminis 
tration,  which  he  tried  to  drive  rather  than  serve. 
As  the  result,  Artemus  was  given  his  place  on  Vanity 
Fair.  He  notes  the  promotion  in  a  letter  to  Wilson, 
written  May  16,  1861: 

"I  must  trouble  you  again.  Will  you  forward  my 
trunk  and  box  at  once  by  TJ.  S.  express?  If  Barney  is 

[84] 


NEW    YORK—   'VANITY    FAIR" 

still  identified  with  that  institution  perhaps  he  can 
'deadhead'  them  through  for  me,  if  it  is  convenient 
for  you  to  see  him.  At  all  events,  please  forward  at 
once.  I  hate  to  bother  you,  but  there  is  no  one  else 
upon  whom  I  can  call. 

"The  times  are  rather  severe,  but  we  shall  weather 
the  gale.  My  publishers  are  holding  the  'Ward'  book 
back  in  the  hope  of  better  times.  It  would  be  folly 
to  issue  it  now.  I  am  now  the  managing  Ed.  of 
Vanity  Fair  and  my  duties  have  materially  increased. 
Contrary  to  my  expectation  and  hope,  I  shall  be  unable 
to  visit  the  West  this  season.  New  York  is  severe 
on  a  man's  feelings  in  summer-time,  but  I  think  of 
taking  board  in  Rah  way,  N.  J.,  for  t}ie  summer.  It  is 
twenty  miles  distant,  a  delightful  village,  and  abounds 
in  female  society  of  first-class  moral  character,  the 
refining  influence  of  which  I  have  already  felt.  I  am 
popular  in  Jersey.  They  like  me  for  my  winning  ways. 

"I  am  making  influential  friends  fast.  I  have  al 
tered  my  views  of  some  things  and  have  courted  the 
friendship  of  men  whose  friendship  is  worth  having.  I 
have  eschewed  fast  society  and  was  never  so  steady  in 
my  life.  Indeed,  I  am  compelled  to  be.  Promptness 
and  faithfulness  in  business  here  are  implicitly  de 
manded.  It  is  the  greatest  mistake  in  the  world  to 
suppose  that  a  man  can  raise  the  d — 1  in  New  York 
and  still  occupy  a  responsible  business  position.  I 
have  not  made  anything  stunningly  gorgeous  in  the 
way  of  money,  but  I  believe  my  prospects  are  good. 
I  should  be  rejoiced  to  see  you  here,  and  to  pay  you 
back  a  few  of  the  many  kindnesses  you  have  shown 
me  in  'the  happy  days  agone.' 

[85] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  I  acted  wisely 
in  leaving  Cleveland.  I  had  accomplished  all  I  could 
there.  It  is  a  wild,  mad  jumble  here,  but  those  who 
take  care  of  themselves  usually  come  out  all  right. 

"Love  to  the  office  generally.  I  sincerely  and  very 
deeply  sympathize  with  Brokenshire  in  his  great  mis 
fortune.  I  never  read  of  any  similar  accident  which 
affected  me  so  much.  I  thought  of  writing  him  a  letter 
of  condolence,  but  hesitated  for  fear  it  might  be  out 
of  place  to  do  so.  I  respect  him  far  more  than  he  may 
have  been  led  to  believe  by  my  eccentric  bearing  towards 
him.  He  is  a  man,  and  I  have  often  envied  him  the 
noble  qualities  of  head  and  heart  with  which  he  is  so 
decidedly  gifted.  You  must  sadly  miss  his  sunny 
presence  in  the  office.  I  hope  he  is  improving  fast — 
I  know  he  bears  it  gallantly,  hopefully — like  a  true 
man  as  he  is.  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  tell  him 
how  sincerely  I  sympathize  with  him? 

"How's  J.  W.?  and  the  deacon?  and  Gris?  Stow  and 
the  rest.  I  see  Bouton  occasionally.  He  speaks  in  the 
most  flattering  manner  of  Gray. 

"Please  attend  to  the  request  expressed  in  the 
beginning  of  this — write  a  good  long  letter." 

For  the  moment  he  was  very  busy  with  his  pen,  as 
well  as  paste-pot  and  scissors.  Besides  the  inter 
mittent  letters  of  the  showman,  and  the  minor  jests,  he 
contributed  an  occasional  local  sketch,  such  as  "East 
Side  Theatricals,"  printed  March  23,  1861,  and  a  bit 
of  travel  experience  in  "Maine  in  March,"  an  echo 
of  his  visit  to  his  mother  anticipated  in  the  Wilson 
letter  of  February  9th,  found  in  the  issue  of  April  20th. 
This  told  the  story  of  his  voyage  from  Portland  to 

[86] 


NEW    YORK—  "VANITY    FAIR' 

Boston — in  his  mind — as  because  of  storm  the  boat 
remained  at  the  dock  all  night.  Both  were  signed 
"Alphonso  the  Brave"  for  no  particular  reason  that 
now  appears.  By  their  flippant  tone,  yet  never  failing 
to  make  a  point,  it  would  also  seem  that  he  wrote 
some  of  the  short  book  reviews  that  appeared  with 
more  or  less  regularity  in  the  paper.  For  example: 

"The  Life  of  Major  John  Andre,  Adjutant  of  the 
British  army  in  America.  By  Winthrop  Sargent.  It 
is  as  the  well-known  author  of  a  comic  ballad  entitled 
'  The  Cow  Chase '  that  Major  Andre  achieved  a  brilliant 
reputation,  and  eventually  secured  himself  this  first- 
rate  notice  in  Vanity  Fair.  We  are  sorry  to  learn 
he  got  into  some  trouble  about  something  somewhere 
in  the  road  up  towards  the  old  Dutch  church  at  Tarry- 
town,  which  caused  him  to  be  hung,  but  are  still 
glad  that  he  became  so  distinguished  as  to  merit  the 
compliment  of  a  biography  from  so  excellent  and 
elegant  a  writer  as  Winthrop  Sargent — a  gentleman 
who  was,  we  understand,  Governor  of  Massachusetts. 
Go  thou  and  do  likewise." 

He  occasionally  answered  correspondents  in  the  old 
Plain  Dealer  style,  toned  down  and  refined.  Here  is  a 
group  of  samples: 

"EQUTJS. — Our  paper  is  not  a  sporting  journal,  and 
for  any  information  about  the  pedigree  of  the  Mare 
Imbrium  you  might  as  well  ask  the  Man  in  the 
Moon." 

"A.  P.  A. — The  slang  you  speak  of,  'Get  him  where 
the  hair  is  short/  is  of  very  ancient  origin,  and  is 
profanely  supposed  to  have  been  the  exclamation  of 
one  Delilah,  as  she  waved  her  shears  in  triumph  after 

[87] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

clipping  off  the  last  lock  of  Samson's  hair.  It  has  been 
a  byword  among  the  Philistines  ever  since." 

"BUTCHER  BOY. — Isn't  it  always  a  poor  rule  that 
won't  work  both  ways?  By  no  means.  For  instance: 
a  dollar's  worth  of  beef  can  always  be  had  for  four 
quarters,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  four  quarters  of 
beef  can  always  be  had  for  a  dollar." 

"L.  S. — Quid  Washingtonce  facium?  Mentiri  nescid 
is  a  Latin  quotation  slightly  varied  from  Juvenal  and 
was  the  noble  reply  of  Bennett  (of  the  N.  Y.  Herald) 
to  his  friends,  when  advised  to  go  to  Washington  on 
the  Fourth  of  March  and  make  his  peace  with  'Old 
Abe.'  The  translation  is:  'What  shall  I  do  at  Wash 
ington  ?  I  cannot  lie ! " : 

May  24,  1861,  he  wrote  Wilson,  saying. 

"I  suppose  Less  is  with  you  yet,  or  is  he  in  the  post- 
office?  He  seems  to  have  forgotten  me.  Tell  him  to 
either  write  or  go  to  the  devil.  Much  obliged  for 
my  trunk.  If  the  expressage  cost  anything  send  bill 
or  dig  till  I  see  you.  I  have  authorized  you  to  draw 
on  me  for  any  favors  I  can  do  you  here.  Will  tear 
my  shirt  for  you  if  necessary.  New  York  is  beginning 
to  scorch  me.  They  say  it  is  blazing  hot  here  in  the 
summer,  so  as  I  said  I  shall  hie  me  away  to  Jersey, 
to  Jersey,  ere  long,  amid  the  flowers,  lambkins,  and 
the  pretty  little  birds.  Well,  I  will,  hoss.  Is  it  a 
fact  that  Hoyt,  the  sculptist,  has  gone  to  the  wars? 
I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  something  within  tells  me, 
in  a  still,  small  voice,  that  I  am  better  adapted  for  the 
Home  Guard  than  anything  else." 

The  summer  developed  hard  times  for  Vanity  Fair. 
The  war  absorbed  popular  attention.  A  comic  paper 

[88] 


NEW    YORK—   'VANITY    FAIR' 

to  succeed  must  belong  to  the  opposition.  Adulation 
and  political  supporting  have  no  place  in  its  vital 
system.  In  such  a  time  opposition  could  not  thrive. 
Artemus  enjoyed  the  editorship,  but  had  no  heart  for 
details,  and  least  of  all  for  financiering,  which  the 
sheet  sadly  needed.  A  little  glimpse  of  the  situation 
is  afforded  by  William  Dean  Howells,  who,  pausing 
in  New  York  en  route  to  his  consulate  in  Venice, 
in  1861,  failed  to  collect  for  some  verses  he  had  sold 
to  the  paper.  "I  sailed  without  the  money,"  he 
records,  "but  I  hardly  expected  that,  for  the  editor, 
who  was  then  Artemus  Ward,  had  frankly  told  me  in 
taking  my  address  that  ducats  were  few  at  that  moment 
with  Vanity  Fair." 

Artemus  himself  labored  at  high  pressure  on  rou 
tine  work  and,  in  addition,  let  his  fancy  range  in  the 
concoction  of  burlesque  romances,  making  fun  of  the 
high-flown  French  style  then  being  aped  by  popular 
New  York  story  papers.  Several  of  these  are  to  be 
found  in  his  works,  along  with  others  which  were  not 
published  until  they  appeared  in  book  form.  These 
efforts  were  echoes  of  the  distant  days  of  The  Car 
pet  Bag,  in  whose  columns  numbers  of  such  parodies 
made  frequent  appearance  and  were  the  undoubted 
source  of  his  inspiration.  Two  of  the  Vaniiy  Fair 
"romances"  were  never  reproduced  from  its  columns, 
"The  Fair  Inez;  or,  The  Lone  Lady  of  the  Crimson 
Cliffs,  A  Tale  of  the  Sea,"  which  began  July  27, 
1861,  and  ran  through  five  numbers,  and  "Woshy- 
Boshy;  or,  The  Prestidigitating  Squaw  of  the  Snake- 
heads,"  started  on  November  2d,  following.  In  the 
first  "romance"  he  took  liberties  with  the  names  of 

[89] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

some  of  his  Cleveland  friends,  including  C.  W.  Coe 
and  Doctor  Briggs,  besides  putting  Wilson  and  Jack 
Ryder  in  as  members  of  a  pirate  crew.  In  the  last 
chapter,  after  the  manner  of  writers  of  romance,  he 
"accounts"  for  the  future  of  his  heroes:  Dr.  Briggs 
[his  friend  Wilson's  brother-in-law]  is  a  dentist  in 
Moosup,  Ct.,  and  is  a  fine  operator  upon  human  gums. 
Mr.  Coe  unintentionally  dislocated  his  neck  a  few  years 
since,  by  falling  from  a  scaffold  in  Illinois,  a  rope  being 
twined  about  his  neck  at  the  time.  There  was  a  large 
crowd  present,  including  the  sheriff  of  the  county. 
Charlie  Wilson  is  publishing  a  daily  in  Waterford, 
Maine,  having  more  subscribers  than  he  knows  what 
to  do  with.  Old  Jack  Ryder  renounced  the  sea  and 
accepted  a  professorship  in  Oberlin  College.  He  also 
conducts  a  concert-hall  in  that  place,  refreshments  be 
ing  handed  around  by  beautiful  Moorish  maidens. 

Edward  F.  Mullen,  Frank  Wood,  and  Charles  Dawson 
Shanly,  of  the  Vanity  Fair  staff,  were  used  as  incidental 
characters  in  "Woshy-Boshy." 

After  midsummer  the  employment  grew  irksome  and 
the  prospects  for  the  paper  were  discouraging.  Ar- 
temus,  unused  to  confinement,  pined  for  more  outdoor 
life.  He  slipped  away  for  a  journey  that  took  him  as 
far  as  Louisville,  appeasing  Vanity  Fair  with  a  single 
contribution,  but  an  especially  good  one,  in  the  "In 
terview"  with  Prince  Jerome  Napoleon.  During  the 
excursion  he  paused  at  Cincinnati,  where  he  picked  up 
an  acquaintance  destined  to  be  of  much  use  to  him 
in  his  growing  career,  Dr.  E.  P.  Kingston,  who  was  in 
time  to  become  his  skilful  agent  and  manager. 
Kingston,  riding  in  a  train  that  was  stumbling  across 

[90] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

Indiana  and  Ohio  toward  Porkopolis,  commenting  on 
the  slowness  of  the  locomotive  to  a  fellow-traveler, 
received  the  response  that  this  was  "Artemus  Ward's 
road" — the  one  to  whose  superintendent  he  applied  for 
a  pass  in  the  guise  of  an  editor  and  was  refused  this 
wise: 

'You  a  editor?'  he  axed  evijently  on  the  pint  of 
snickerin. 

"'Yes,  sir,'  sez  I,  'don't  I  look  poor  enuff?' 

"'Just  about/  sez  he,  'but  our  road  can't  pass  you.' 

"'Can't,  hey?' 

'"No,  sir— it  can't.' 

"Becauz,'  sez  I,  lookin  him  full  in  the  face  with  a 
Eagle  eye,  'it  goes  so  darned  slow  it  can't  pass  any 
body!' 

"Methinks  I  had  him  then.  It's  the  slowest  Rale 
Road  in  the  West.  With  a  mortifiled  air,  he  told  me 
to  git  out  of  his  office.  I  pitted  him  and  went." 

After  reciting  the  tale  the  traveler,  who  knew 
Artemus  Ward,  advised  Kingston,  whose  latent  interest 
had  been  aroused,  that  he  was  to  be  in  Cincinnati  that 
evening  and  offered  to  introduce  him,  a  promise 
that  was  kept  at  the  Burnett  House.  The  rather 
literal  Englishman  had  expected  to  find  a  burly  ex 
hibitor  of  snakes  and  waxworks,  and  was  duly  aston 
ished  to  meet  a  gentleman.  Here  is  his  account  of  the 
meeting: 

"I  expected  to  see  an  elderly  man  with  a  shrewd  face 
and  'busy  wrinkles  round  his  eyes,'  like  those  of  Tenny 
son's  miller;  a  man  of  cunning  look  and  rough  exterior, 
who  had  mingled  much  with  the  world,  and  who,  by 
travel  and  long  experience  of  the  rough-and-tumble 

[91] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

life  of  a  showman,  had  qualified  himself  to  be  the 
Mentor  to  so  inexperienced  a  Telemachus  as  myself. 
No  trace  of  my  ideal  presented  itself  in  the  gentleman 
to  whom  I  was  introduced.  He  was  apparently  not 
more  than  twenty-five  years  old,  slender  in  build, 
frank,  open,  and  pleasant  in  demeanor,  with  ruddy 
cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  a  voice  soft,  gentle,  and 
musical.  Instead  of  an  old  showman  I  saw  a  young 
man  who,  judging  from  his  appearance,  might  have 
just  left  college.  Instead  of  the  sort  of  person  usually 
found  traveling  with  a  waxwork  exhibition,  I  met  a 
gentleman  who  might  have  passed  for  a  youthful 
member  of  one  of  the  learned  professions.  Feeling 
some  doubts  about  my  having  been  introduced  to 
the  right  man,  and  half  suspecting  that  I  was  being 
made  the  victim  of  a  hoax,  I  asked,  hesitatingly,  if 
the  gentleman  was  really  Mr.  Artemus  Ward. 

"'This  is  my  friend  Mr.  Charles  Browne,  who 
pleases  to  call  himself  Artemus  Ward,'  replied  my 
introducer.  Til  vouch  for  him,  but  not  for  his  show. 
As  for  his  kangaroo,  I  don't  go  anything  on  him.' 

"Very  little  time  elapsed  before  we  were  on  terms 
of  chatty  acquaintance.  Presently  Artemus  Ward  in 
terrupted  the  conversation  to  inquire  whether  or  not 
I  was  an  Englishman.  I  replied  that  I  was,  when  he 
again  offered  to  shake  hands,  and  said,  half  in  earnest 
and  half  in  jest: 

"'I  like  Englishmen;  this  is  the  hotel  your  Prince  of 
Wales  stopped  at  when  he  came  through  here  last 
summer.  By  the  by,  how  is  the  prince?  Give  my 
compliments  to  him  when  you  see  him.  Suppose  we 
go  down  and  hoist  to  him.' 

[92] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

'"To  hoist,'  or  to  give  the  pronunciation  more 
closely,  'to  hyst,'  is,  in  American  parlance,  to  indulge 
in  a  drink.  The  bar  of  the  Burnett  House  is  down 
stairs.  Thither  we  adjourned,  and  after  duly  toasting 
the  health  of  his  Royal  Highness  in  some  very  excellent 
Bourbon,  the  genial  'showman,'  addressing  me,  said: 

"'My  friend  and  I  are  going  round  to  see  the  shows 
in  Cincinnati  to-night,  and  we  mean  to  visit  the 
Infernal  Regions.  Will  you  join  us?' 

"'Willingly,'  I  replied;  'but  pray  what  are  the 
Infernal  Regions?' 

"'Don't  be  frightened.     Come  and  see.' 

"Thus  it  was  that  I  first  met  Artemus  Ward." 

Before  visiting  the  Infernal  Regions  the  pair  saw 
Tobin's  "Honeymoon"  at  Pike's  Opera  House — "every 
brick  of  which  was  whisky  and  all  the  mortar  pork." 
The  play  was  poorly  performed,  the  Duke  of  Aranza 
being  worse  than  usual.  The  wretched  acting,  so  bad 
as  to  be  almost  burlesque,  kept  Artemus  rocking  with 
pent-up  mirth.  At  the  drop  of  the  last  curtain  he 
gravely  said  to  Kingston: 

"I  am  going  over  to  your  country  some  day,  and 
I  shall  want  you  to  introduce  me  to  Mr.  Tobin." 

The  amazed  doctor  replied  that  Tobin  had  been 
dead  for  fifty  years. 

"I  am  sorry,  indeed  I  am  sorry,"  said  Artemus, 
sadly.  "I  wanted  to  see  Tobin  very  much.  Mr. 
Tobin  has  done  me  a  great  deal  of  good  in  time; 
Mr.  Tobin  has  been  very  kind  to  me.  Whenever  I  have 
wanted  to  see  any  bad  acting  I  have  always  found  it 
when  the  'Honeymoon'  was  on  the  bills;  whenever 
I've  had  to  report  an  amateur  performance  or  take  a 

[931 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

young  lady  to  the  play,  I  have  been  sure  to  see  the 
*  Honeymoon.'  Much  honeymoon  is  on  my  brain.  It 
oppresses  my  heart,  and  I  have  hoped  one  day  to  be 
able  to  go  to  England  just  to  call  on  Mr.  Tobin  to  say 
how  grateful  I  am— and  to  kick  him!" 

The  night  was  long.  The  party  went,  after  the 
"Honeymoon,"  to  Wood's  Theater  in  Vine  Street,  in 
search  of  more  diversion,  which,  not  appearing,  they 
journeyed  by  way  of  the  National  Theater  to  the 
promised  Infernal  Regions,  a  gruesome  housing  of 
waxworks,  worked  in  pantomime.  The  animated  fig 
ures,  with  the  clanging  accompaniment  of  horrific 
noises,  thrilled  Artemus  with  delight. 

"They  feel  at  home  in  their  parts,"  he  said  of  the 
figures  and  their  manipulators.  "It's  the  best  show 
in  Cincinnati." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and,  starting  down  Race 
Street,  Kingston  met  Artemus  in  front  of  the  Unitarian 
chapel.  At  the  suggestion  of  another  chance  ac 
quaintance  they  went  in.  Moncure  D.  Conway  was 
preaching  a  sermon  denouncing  Lincoln  for  not  taking 
a  more  aggressive  attitude  toward  slavery,  supporting 
Gen.  John  C.  Fremont's  policy  in  Missouri,  which  the 
country  at  large  was  not  then  prepared  to  indorse — 
though  finally  coming  to  the  Pathfinder's  radical  view. 
Artemus  did  not  like  the  sermon  and  came  away  shak 
ing  his  head  in  excited  dissent.  Conway  did  not, 
of  course,  know  he  was  in  the  audience.  Six  years 
later  they  were  to  meet  again,  and  it  befell  that  to 
Conway  came  the  duty  of  laying  his  body  in  the 
earth. 

Ward  and  Kingston  took  a  run  down  the  Ohio  River 

[94] 


NEW    YORK-     'VANITY    FAIR' 

to  Louisville  on  the  Major  Anderson,  a  mail-boat 
named  after  the  defender  of  Fort  Sumter.  It  was  a 
joyous  trip,  punctuated  with  many  cocktails  and 
smoothed  with  the  flow  of  choice  Catawba  from 
Nicholas  Longworth's  cellars  at  Cincinnati.  Kingston 
was  advance  agent  for  some  entertainment — he  does 
not  tell  us  what — and  Artemus  attended  him  while  he 
went  about  distributing  advertising  matter  and  adjust 
ing  details,  reveling  all  the  time  in  talk  of  the  showman's 
trade. 

"I  understand  that  you  are  used  to  managing  shows. 
Suppose  some  day  you  manage  me,"  he  observed. 

Kingston  was  puzzled  to  know  what  there  would  be 
to  manage. 

"A  moral  lecturer,"  replied  Artemus,  with  much 
gravity.  "There's  nothing  else  to  be  made  of  me  but 
that,  and  you  must  take  me  to  England  and  Australia." 

They  parted,  Kingston  continuing  with  his  attrac 
tion  and  Artemus  returning  to  New  York  by  way  of 
Cleveland,  Buffalo,  Rochester,  and  Corning.  The 
Rochester  Union  noted  his  passage,  though  he  did  not 
pause,  having  "wasted  a  day  at  Buffalo  looking  at  the 
county  fair."  He  spent  four  days  in  Corning  visiting 
some  unnamed  friend,  and  reached  New  York  to 
write  Wilson  on  September  26th,  evidently  having  a 
debt  to  the  latter  in  mind: 

"In  a  very  short  time,  say  four  weeks,  I  will  square 
your  account.  But  if  you  must  have  it  before  then 
say  so,  and  I  will  dig  it  up  for  you  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  So  much  for  that.  I  feel  first  rate.  My  trip 
did  me  good.  New  York  is  lively  enough  for  practical 
purposes,  the  many  rumors  to  the  contrary  notwith- 

[95] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

standing.  In  regard  to  my  orders  on  the  Mercantile 
and  Westchester,  I  haven't  seen  the  latter  yet,  but  I 
called  on  the  former.  He  was  angry  and  said  the  work 
had  done  him  more  harm  than  good.  Among  other 
remarks  he  said: 

"Damn  the  papers,  all  of  'em!' 

"I  said  'certainly,'  but  invited  his  attention  to  the 
fact  that  his  signature  was  attached  to  the  document 
in  a  regular  business  way,  and  that  I  couldn't  well 
perceive  how  he  could  repudiate.  He  said  I  might 
come  and  board  it  out,  but,  as  his  face  was  flushed 
with  anger,  I  don't  think  I  shall.  I  am  afraid  he 
will  make  it  too  lively  for  me.  ...  If  ever  I  start  on 
another  pleasure  tour  without  plenty  of  money,  I  hope 
some  one  will  kill  me." 

Meanwhile,  the  idea  of  giving  a  "show"  grew 
stronger  in  the  humorist's  mind.  He  saw  no  future 
for  the  paper  or  himself  if  he  stuck  to  it,  and  began  the 
preparation  of  a  "piece."  He  was  cheered  in  pursuing 
his  purpose  by  the  Bohemian  congregation  to  which 
Mr.  Leland  has  referred.  Henry  Clapp5  Jr.,  around 
whom  the  wits  and  writers  gathered,  was  a  native  of 
Nantucket,  where  he  was  born  November  11,  1814, 
and  had  been  for  some  years  a  figure  in  the  fugitive- 
literature-making  of  New  York.  He  had  established 
the  Saturday  Press  in  1858  as  a  literary  journal,  with  a 
pungent  editorial  side  that  took  many  liberties  with  the 
city  and  its  denizens.  He  was  for  a  time  secretary  to 
Albert  Brisbane,  the  disciple  of  Fourier,  advocate  of  a 
socialistic  state,  father  of  the  Arthur  Brisbane  of  our 
day,  a  son  of  his  elder  years.  The  meeting-place  of 
Clapp's  followers  was  in  a  cafe  kept  by  Charles  Pfaff  in 

[96] 


NO.    047    BROADWAY,    NEW   YORK 

(Where  Pfaff's  "  Bohemia  "  was  located) 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR" 

the  basement  of  647  Broadway,  on  the  west  side, 
near  Bleecker  Street.  Fifteen  years  later,  in  the  middle 
'seventies,  647  became  a  loafing-place  of  my  own,  as  a 
small  boy,  fascinated  with  books,  for  here  James 
Miller,  the  publisher,  then  had  a  fine  book-store,  of 
which  I  had  the  run  and  where  I  spent  many  days  of 
delight.  PfafF s  was,  of  course,  gone.  Mr.  Miller  used 
the  basement  for  storage  and  packing.  Occasionally  I 
descended  to  its  depths,  but,  alas,  I  did  not  know  this 
had  been  Bohemia!  I  mention  it  only  as  another  co 
incidence  in  my  circling  about  Artemus  Ward. 

The  group  which  welcomed  him  included  Thomas 
Bailey  Aldrich,  brought  there  by  his  friend  William 
Winter,  so  long  the  dramatic  critic  of  the  New  York 
Tribune;  Fitz-Hugh  Ludlow,  the  "Hasheesh  Eater"; 
Charles  Dawson  Shanly;  Edward  G.  P.  Wilkins, 
dramatic  critic  of  the  Herald;  Frank  Wood,  who  had 
preceded  Leland  as  editor  of  Vanity  Fair;  Charles  D. 
Gardette,  author  of  "The  Fire  Fiend";  N.  G.  Shepard, 
a  long-since-forgotten  poet;  Fitz- James  O'Brien,  the 
gifted  author  of  "The  Diamond  Lens"  and  "The 
Wondersmith,"  two  tales  that  thrilled  the  readers  of 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  in  the  early  'sixties;  Henry  Neil, 
a  working  newspaper  man;  George  Arnold,  wit  and 
poet,  and  Walt  Whitman,  with  five  years  of  "Leaves 
of  Grass"  behind  him,  posing  much  in  flannel  shirt  and 
sombrero,  roughly  unpleasant,  and  plainly  on  exhibi 
tion,  before  his  services  as  a  war  nurse  and  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  had  softened  him  into  the  good  gray  Poet. 
"We  were  all  very  merry  at  Pfaffs,"  wrote  Aldrich 
in  his  poem  "At  the  Cafe,"  printed  in  the  first  number 
of  Vanity  Fair.  This  rude  Bohemia,  its  bar  damp  with 

8  [97] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

beer  suds,  sawdust  floor,  and  bare  tables,  had  also  a 
queen,  "Ada  Clare,"  the  name  chosen  by  Jane  McEl- 
heney  to  grace  some  slight  poetical  and  literary  efforts 
in  the  Saturday  Press  and  other  publications.  Poor 
girl!  It  was  her  fate  to  die  in  terrible  agony  from  the 
bite  of  a  mad  dog.  She  was  seized  with  the  hydro 
phobia  while  on  a  train  returning  from  a  visit  to  Ohio 


FITZ- JAMES  O'BRIEN  (IN  UNIFORM) 

(From  a  Vanity  Fair  "  comic  "  by  Mullen) 

in  1872,  and  suffered  incredible  torture.  O'Brien  was 
the  greatest  genius  and  strangest  personality  of  them 
all.  At  times  he  was  without  a  permanent  place  of 
abode,  but,  being  equipped  with  a  bunch  of  pass-keys 
to  the  lodgings  of  his  fellow-Bohemians,  slept  in  the 
bed  that  was  most  convenient  at  the  time  he  felt  the 
need  of  slumber,  occasionally  to  the  surprise  of  the 

[98] 


NEW    YORK-     'VANITY    FAIR' 

friend  who  came  in  late  and  found  his  single  couch 
occupied.  He  volunteered  with  the  Seventh  Regiment 
when  the  war  broke  out,  and  by  the  chance  of  a  delay 
in  the  mail  secured  a  place  on  the  staff  of  Brig. -Gen. 
Frederick  W.  Lander,  for  which  his  fellow,  but  more 
orderly,  Bohemian,  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  had  been 
selected.  He  was  mortally  wounded  at  Cumberland, 
Virginia,  February  16, 1862,  and  died  April  6th.  Henry 
Clapp,  who  disliked  both  Aldrich  and  O'Brien,  re 
marked  on  the  first  news  that  "O'Brien  had  been 
wounded  in  Aldrich's  shoulder." 

Artists  of  growing  fame  were  often  added  to  the 
company:  Launt  Thompson,  George  H.  Boughton, 
Wilson  Fisk,  Edward  F.  Mullen,  Frank  Bellew,  and 
Sol  Ey  tinge,  Jr.  To  such  associates  Artemus  Ward 
came  as  one  to  the  manner  born.  The  evenings  were 
gay  with  converse  and  many  libations  of  Pfaff's  brew. 
To  W.  D.  Howells,  pausing  gingerly  for  a  moment  at 
the  door;  it  seemed  a  cheap  and  vulgar  Bohemia,  quite 
unworthy  of  his  interest.  But  it  was  not  that.  Clapp 
had  talent  and  insight.  The  members  were  men  of 
genius,  kinsmen  in  the  world  of  light,  who  came  here 
to  meet  their  brothers.  That  it  became  a  bit  of  an 
exhibition-place  was  only  natural — this  is  the  fate  of 
all  Bohemias,  from  Murger's  Latin  Quarter  to  Marie's  in 
McDougal  Street.  The  world  will  not  let  Bohemia 
alone,  and  it  smothers  in  a  crowd. 

To  this  Bohemia  it  was  that  the  adventurer  turned 
for  encouragement  on  the  lecture  idea  and  found  it. 
The  ever-hopeful  wits  and  chance-workers  saw  always 
something  better  beyond.  The  fortunes  of  the  paper 
were  obviously  low  and  the  platform  held  out  rainbow 

[09] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

promises.  There  was  a  craving  for  oratory  and  mono 
logue.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  Edwin  Hubbell 
Chapin  from  the  pulpit;  Wendell  Phillips,  Anna  Dick 
inson,  and  John  B.  Gough  from  the  oratorical  side, 
with  scores  of  lesser  lights,  were  appearing  on  the 
scene.  To  join  he  needed  only  a  manager,  some  dates, 
circulars,  and  a  dress-coat.  The  last  two  were  easily 
had,  the  former  not  so  facile. 

Artemus  fussed  around,  stringing  together  old  jokes 
from  the  Plain  Dealer's  local  column,  stories  picked 
up  about  town,  on  the  road,  and  in  Bohemia,  and  new 
thoughts,  conjured  up  with  a  subject  on  his  mind. 
At  first  he  considered  taking  "My  Seven  Grand 
mothers"  as  a  topic,  but  it  did  not  fit  the  jumble  of 
jests.  The  title  finally  picked  for  the  talk  was  taken 
from  that  of  a  long  and  lugubrious  ballad  reciting  the 
woes  of  those  unfortunate  youngsters,  "The  Children 
in  the  Wood."  printed  in  The  Carpet  Bag,  September 
13,  1851,  about  the  time  of  his  arrival  in  Snow  &  Wil- 
der's  office,  and  which,  very  likely,  he  put  into  type 
himself.  It  began: 

Now  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear, 

The  words  which  I  shall  write; 
A  doleful  story  you  shall  hear, 

In  time  brought  forth  to  light. 

The  lecture  finally  became  "Babes  in  the  Wood," 
but  the  debut  was  as  "Children."  It  was  no  casual 
attempt  he  had  in  view,  as  some  of  his  contemporaries 
have  written,  but  a  real  campaign  had  been  planned 
and  dates  made  for  several  months  ahead.  They  are 
all  listed  in  a  note-book  of  the  period.  The  first  try-out 

[100] 


NEW    YORK-     'VANITY    FAIR" 

was  at  New  London,  Connecticut,  on  the  evening  of 
November  26,  1861.  Frank  Wood,  his  associate  on 
Vanity  Fair,  kept  him  company  during  the  ordeal. 
The  "Children  in  the  Wood"  were  duly  advertised, 
and  they  were  exhibited  in  Lawrence  Hall.  William 
Stuart,  the  Shakespearian  critic,  who  was  a  resident  of 
Ocean  Beach,  near  New  London,  was  a  friend  and  may 
have  encouraged  his  coming.  The  New  London  Star 
of  the  next  day  proclaimed  "a  decided  success,  full  of 
funny  and  brilliant  things,  entirely  characteristic.  He 
kept  the  audience  in  a  continual  titter.  .  .  .  Wher 
ever  Artemus  lectures  the  auditors  may  expect  an 
unusually  rich  treat,  and  those  who  did  not  attend 
made  a  mistake." 

After  the  lecture  came  the  first  of  the  long  and 
exhausting  aftermaths.  Artemus  was  escorted  to  the 
rooms  of  the  Nameaug  Engine  Company,  in  the  City 
Hall,  and  entertained.  He  made  an  amusing  address, 
for  which  the  firemen  showed  their  appreciation  by 
electing  him  a  member  of  the  company. 

The  following  evening,  the  27th,  the  show  moved  up 
the  Thames  to  Norwich.  Here  it  also  made  an  effective 
appeal.  The  Norwich  Bulletin  on  the  28th  said  of  it: 

"Artemus  Ward's  lecture  in  Breed  Hall  last  night 
was  rich,  rare,  and  racy.  The  audience  was  quite  large, 
but  many  who  would  have  been  glad  to  be  present 
were  kept  away  by  the  inclemency  of  the  weather." 

Newark,  New  Jersey,  was  covered  on  the  evening  of 
Monday,  December  2d.  The  Newark  Daily  Advertiser 
gave  the  show  this  advance  mention : 

"The  well-known  humorist  'Artemus  Ward'  will 
deliver  a  characteristic  lecture  on  the  'Children  in  the 

[ion 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Wood,'  at  Library  Hall,  on  Monday  evening.  Artemus, 
whose  real  name  is  Charles  F.  Browne,  is  a  young  man 
about  twenty-five  years  old  and  a  relative  of  Vice- 
President  Hamlin.  He  has  displayed  an  extraordi 
nary  degree  of  talent  in  one  so  young.  His  lectures 
are  highly  commended  by  the  press  throughout  the 
country." 

The  material  for  this  notice  was  furnished  by  the 
showman  himself  and  gives  what  appears  to  be  the 
first  appearance  of  the  added  "e"  to  Brown.  There 
after  he  was  Charles  F.  Browne,  although  His  Book, 
issued  later,  does  not  use  the  "e."  It  was  already  in 
Carleton's  hands  and  he  was  too  busy  or  too  careless 
to  fix  the  trimming.  That  he  was  practising  the  new 
signature  is  to  be  inferred  from  a  sample  autograph 
written  in  his  note-book  on  a  page  close  to  the  list 
of  the  early  dates,  thus: 


The  relationship  to  Hannibal  Hamlin  was  pretty 
remote,  his  father  being  a  very  distant  cousin  of  that 
eminent  gentleman.  The  Newark  appearance  would 
appear  to  have  been  successful.  The  New  York 
World  of  the  Wednesday  following  contained  a  press 
notice  of  the  lecture,  evidently  encouraged  by  the 
lecturer,  saying: 

[1021 


NEW    YORK-     'VANITY    FAIR' 

"Mr.  Charles  F.  Browne,  'Artemus  Ward,'  delivered 
his  humorous  lecture,  *  Children  in  the  Wood,'  in 
Newark  on  Monday  evening  last.  The  audience,  we 
learn,  became  highly  enthusiastic  over  Artemus's  droll 
stories,  so  much  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  stop  his 
lecture  and  wait  for  them  to  recover." 

From  Newark  he  went  to  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
speaking  there  Wednesday ;  December  4th.  The  follow 
ing  night,  the  5th,  he  was  in  Concord,  New  Hampshire, 
and  on  the  evening  of  the  6th  amused  Boston  for  the 
first  time,  lecturing  to  an  appreciative  audience  in 
Tremont  Temple.  The  Boston  Post  of  December  7th 
gave  this  mention : 

"The  widely  and  greatly  admired  'Artemus  Ward,' 
alias  Charles  F.  Browne,  gave  a  lecture  last  evening  at 
Tremont  Temple.  The  reputation  of  the  lecturer,  or, 
rather,  of  the  writer  (editor  of  Vanity  Fair),  added  to 
a  natural  curiosity  to  see  one  who  penned  so  many 
funny  things,  attracted  an  audience  nearly  filling  the 
spacious  hall. 

"Mr.  Browne,  we  will  state  for  the  information  of 
our  readers,  is  a  young  man  of  some  twenty-eight 
years,  with  a  pleasant,  genial  face,  a  keen,  humorous 
eye,  and  a  countenance  suggestive  of  close  powers  of 
observation,  and  a  fresh,  live  intellect.  Of  a  nervous, 
sanguine  temperament,  he  has  a  type  of  body  which 
may  be  classed  among  the  'thin.'  His  voice  is  clear, 
sweet,  and  pleasant,  and  his  manner  attractive  and 
agreeable.  To  this  imperfect  description  we  may  add 
a  neatness  of  dress,  and,  altogether,  that  he  is  calcu 
lated  to  make  a  most  favorable  impression  before  a 
public  audience." 

[103] 


ARTEMTJS    WARD 

The  pleasant  pathway  now  opened  fast  and  wide. 
In  Boston  he  made  quick  entrance  to  the  inner  circle 
of  literary  interest,  that  gathered  around  Mrs.  Anne 
Adams  Fields,  wife  of  James  T.  Fields,  the  most  dis 
tinguished  of  American  publishers.  On  the  morning 
after  the  lecture  he  breakfasted  with  Mrs.  Fields  at  her 
home,  No.  148  Charles  Street,  on  the  edge  of  Beacon 
Hill,  overlooking  the  Back  Bay,  and  had  the  great 
felicity  of  then  meeting  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
who  was  present,  with  his  son,  now  the  distinguished 
Justice  of  the  United  States  Supreme  Court.  Mrs. 
Fields's  diary  gives  this  glimpse  of  him: 

"Sunday,  December  8,  1861.  Yesterday  morning 
Artemus  Ward,  Mr.  Browne,  breakfasted  with  us:  also 
Dr.  Holmes  and  the  Lieutenant,  his  son.  We  had  a 
merry  time  because  Jamie  [Mr.  Fields]  was  in  a  grand 
humor  and  represented  people  and  incidents  in  the  most 
incomparable  manner.  'Why,'  said  Dr.  Holmes  to 
him  afterward,  'you  must  excuse  me  that  I  did  not 
talk,  but  the  truth  is  there  is  nothing  I  enjoy  so  much 
as  your  anecdotes,  and  whenever  I  get  a  chance  I  can't 
help  listening  to  them.'  The  Professor  complimented 
Artemus  upon  his  great  success  and  told  him  the 
pleasure  he  had  received.  Artemus  twinkled  all  over, 
but  said  little  after  the  Professor  arrived.  He  was 
evidently  immensely  possessed  by  him.  The  young 
lieutenant  has  mostly  recovered  from  his  wound  and 
speaks  as  if  duty  would  recall  him  soon  to  camp.  He 
will  go  when  the  time  comes,  but  home  evidently  never 
looked  half  so  pleasant  before." 

The  lecturer's  note-book  records  a  date  at  Ports 
mouth,  New  Hampshire,  December  7th.  Monday,  the 

[104] 


NEW    YORK-      'VANITY    FAIR" 

9th,  he  is  listed  for  Trenton,  New  Jersey;  Tuesday,  the 
10th,  for  Hornellsville,  New  York;  Monday,  the  12th, 
Brooklyn;  and  Tuesday,  the  13th,  Paterson,  New 
Jersey.  There  is  a  break  until  the  18th,  when  he  is 
down  to  appear  in  Williamsburgh,  a  part  of  Brooklyn, 
with  a  close  connection  the  next  day  at  Lynn,  Massa 
chusetts.  Manchester,  New  Hampshire,  heard  him 
on  the  20th,  according  to  the  schedule;  Roxbury  on 
the  21st.  South  Danvers,  Massachusetts,  was  named 
to  be  covered  on  the  22d,  but  this  date  is  erased,  and 
changed  to  the  25th.  Clinton  Hall,  in  Astor  Place, 
New  York,  was  engaged  for  the  23d,  and  the  lecture 
first  given  to  a  metropolitan  audience  on  that  evening. 
"Artemus  Ward  will  speak  a  piece,"  was  the  announce 
ment.  He  liked  to  treat  himself  with  as  little  serious 
ness  as  possible,  and  this  advertisement  was  an  echo 
of  school-days  in  Waterford  and  Norway,  when  with 
other  scholars  he  was  called  upon  at  the  term  end,  or 
at  the  "literary"  exercises,  to  "speak  a  piece."  The 
night  was  snowy  and  but  few  people  turned  out.  There 
was  a  net  loss  of  thirty  dollars.  "Frank  Wood  was  one 
babe  and  I  was  the  other,"  he  said  afterward. 

On  the  morning  after  the  Clinton  Hall  venture,  in  its 
issue  of  December  24th,  the  New  York  Times  printed 
this  notice,  which  is  found  pasted  in  his  note-book: 

"THE  CHILDREN  IN  THE  WOOD 

"A  lecture,  with  the  above  title,  was  delivered  last 
evening  in  the  Clinton  Hall  lecture-room  by  Mr. 
Charles  F.  Browne,  a  gentleman  widely  known  as  a 
humorous  writer,  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  *  Artemus 

[1051 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Ward.'  The  night  was  a  most  inclement  one,  and,  if 
the  room  was  not  quite  filled,  the  wonder  is  that  so 
large  an  audience  could  have  been  drawn  together, 
under  the  circumstances.  Naturally  and  justly,  those 
who  are  acquainted  with  'Artemus  Ward,  Showman,' 
through  his  writings  only,  pictured  him,  in  fancy,  as  a 
burly,  middle-aged  person  in  somewhat  seedy  apparel, 
and  with  an  address  more  or  less  suggestive  of  the 
*  side-show'  type  of  character.  On  the  contrary,  Mr. 
Browne  is  a  tall,  slim,  and  gentlemanly-looking  young 
man,  rather  careful  in  his  dress  than  otherwise,  and 
gifted  with  an  imperturbable  expression  of  face,  which 
adds  very  materially  to  the  effect  of  the  droll  philoso 
phies  that  are  propounded  by  him.  'The  Children  in 
the  Wood '  is  a  title  skilfully  made  use  of  by  the  lecturer 
as  a  medium  for  saying  a  great  many  spicy  and  smart 
things  upon  the  current  topics  of  the  day.  Every 
now  and  then  he  alludes  to  the  title,  as  having  no 
immediate  reference  to  something  that  has  just  been 
spun  out  by  him,  the  effect  of  which,  aided  by  the  droll 
solemnity  with  which  it  is  uttered,  convulses  the 
audience  with  laughter.  By  the  gift  of  nature,  Mr. 
Browne  is  a  comedian.  His  delivery  is  provokingly 
deliberate,  and  there  is  a  subdued  humor  visible  in 
every  expression  of  his  face.  The  reading  was  a  de 
cided  success,  and  will  be  repeated  in  the  same  room 
on  the  evening  of  the  2d  of  January." 

He  seems  to  have  filled  the  engagement  at  South 
Danvers,  Massachusetts,  on  the  25th.  New  Haven, 
Connecticut,  and  Gloucester,  Massachusetts,  were 
favored  on  the  26th  and  27th,  respectively.  December 
30th  he  lectured  in  Corning,  New  York,  and  on  the 

[106] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

31st  in  Elmira.  The  lecture  was  given  a  second  time 
in  New  York  on  the  first  day  of  the  new  year,  and  from 
that  time  on  dates  follow  in  thick  order.  The  venture 
was  fully  launched.  While  the  success  was  consider 
able,  the  early  fees  were  low.  Having  no  management, 
he  worked  through  bureaus  and  with  local  committees 
for  fixed  pay.  There  are  mentions  of  receipts  in  the 
note-book.  Burlington,  Vermont,  paid  him  fifty  dol 
lars;  North  Adams,  Massachusetts,  twenty-five  dol 
lars,  while  an  evening  at  Charlestown  netted  him  but 
fifteen  dollars.  A  return  to  Burlington  gave  him 
twenty-five  dollars,  which  seems  to  have  been  the 
sum  most  often  received,  with  an  occasional  drop  to 
fifteen  dollars.  That  even  these  returns  rolled  up 
into  respectable  sums  is  seen  by  a  note-book  memo 
randum  of  three-year  Treasury  notes,  numbered 
36994,  36995,  36996,  36998,  36989,  36990,  evidently 
newly  acquired.  He  was  rich  enough  on  January  2, 
1862,  to  lend  Frank  Wood  twenty-one  dollars.  There 
are  frequent  jottings  of  loans  in  the  note-book. 

The  January  engagements  were  routed  across  central 
New  York,  as  far  west  as  Milwaukee,  concluding  with 
a  glorious  return  to  Cleveland  on  the  last  day  of  the 
month.  The  Academy  of  Music,  where  he  spoke,  was 
packed  with  friends,  who  made  the  evening  a  gala 
one.  The  gawky,  ill-dressed  Local  had  become  a 
polished  man  of  the  world  and  master  of  its  ways. 
He  wore  a  dress-suit  with  elegance,  and,  as  James  F. 
Ryder  said,  "looked  sweet  enough  to  eat."  The 
Plain  Dealer  of  February  1st  chronicled  the  event  in 
these  terms: 

"  ARTEMUS  WARD  AT  THE  ACADEMY — Immense  Jam — 

[1071 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Children  in  the  Woods — Great  Enthusiasm — The  Kan 
garoo  Quiet — Everybody  Good-humored. — The  Acad 
emy  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity  last  evening 
to  hear  the  great  showman's  (Mr.  Charles  F.  Browne) 
account  of  the  'Babes  in  the  Wood.'  We  do  not 
recollect  ever  having  seen  a  larger  audience  in  Cleveland 
before.  At  fifteen  minutes  before  eight  Mr.  Browne 
appeared  in  the  back  part  of  the  stage  and  after  con 
siderable  difficulty  made  his  way  to  the  front,  amidst 
enthusiastic  cheers.  He  was  presented  to  the  au 
dience  by  Mr.  G.  A.  Benedict,  of  the  Herald.  The  lat 
ter  alluded  to  Mr.  Browne's  happy  faculty  for  making 
everybody  good-humored,  incidentally  mentioning  the 
far-famed  'waxwurx'  and  unmanageable  kangaroo, 
after  which  he  introduced  him  to  the  immense  audience. 
The  following  synopsis  of  the  lecture  will  hardly  convey 
a  correct  idea  of  it,  as  to  be  appreciated  you  must  see 
the  speaker;  the  affected  seriousness,  pauses  here 
and  there  to  be  followed  by  something  immensely 
ridiculous  and  comical,  all  combined  to  make  it  irre 
sistible. 

"Mr.  Browne  said  as  his  introduction:  'It  is  pos 
sible  that  I  have  not  grouped  my  thoughts  in  a  very 
attractive  manner.  I  can  only  plead  as  an  excuse  that 
my  ideas  of  a  first-class  lecture  are  in  a  rather  confused 
and  unsettled  state.  I  never  attend  lectures  myself — 
no,  I  should  think  not.  I  am  not  at  all  brilliant — I 
flatter  myself  I  am  too  smart  for  that — but,  having  a 
taste  for  the  pathetic,  I  have  chosen  the  "  Children  in 
the  Wood.'" 

"He  went  on  to  say  that  if  the  'Children  in  the 
Wood'  were  not  his  subject,  he  would  have  talked  of 

[108] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

office-seekers,  for  instance,  or  crushed  literary  youths 
or  modern  reformers  or  the  peace  men  of  the  North, 
or  debt,  or  the  suspension  of  specie  payment.  He 
attributed  the  flight  at  Bull  Run  to  a  rumor  that  there 
were  three  custom-house  vacancies  to  be  filled  at 
Washington.  He  said  that  literary  young  men  would 
not  be  crushed  if  they  would  write  something  useful, 
such  as  'Thirty  Days  Hath  September.'  He  ridiculed 
modern  reformers  by  saying  that  some  were  opposed 
to  razors,  some  to  law,  and  all  to  work.  Some  of  these 
reformers  say  tobacco  will  kill  a  dog.  Well — let  us  not 
give  it  to  our  dogs  and  by  that  means  we  can  save  them. 
He  knew  of  reformatory  societies  in  the  West  whose 
tenets  would  make  a  gorilla  to  shudder  or  a  negro 
minstrel  to  blush  palpably  through  a  double  coating 
of  cork.  He  spoke  of  debt  as  one  of  the  greatest  curses. 
When  gorillas  are  particular  about  changing  their  linen 
—when  the  omnibus-horses  on  Broadway  look  con 
tented  and  cheerful — when  General  Phelps,  whose 
proclamation  to  the  raccoons  of  Ship  Island  every  one 
has  read,  is  attacked  with  a  rush  of  brains  to  the  head — 
then,  and  not  till  then,  will  certain  persons  stop  running 
in  debt.  'In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  debt.'  As 
intimately  connected  with  the  'Babes  in  the  Wood,'  the 
suspension  of  specie  payment  was  discussed  by  Mr. 
Ward.  He  trusted  that  banks  would  not  claim  original 
ity  for  the  movement r  for  some  of  his  friends  had  sus 
pended  specie  payment  several  years  ago,  while  others 
took  a  broader  view  and  suspended  paper  payment  at 
the  same  time. 

"In  conclusion  the  lecturer  said:  'But  I  suppose  that 
you  want  to  hear  something  about  the  children  in  the 

[109] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

wood.  They  were  good  children,  they  were  unfort 
unate,  and,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain, 
entirely  respectable,  but  I  found  the  subject  such  a 
difficult  one  to  write  about  that  I  concluded  that  I 
would  not  deliver  a  lecture  on  the  children  this  evening. 
I  may  do  so  some  time,  however,  and  so,  in  bidding 
you  good  night,  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  saying,  "to 
be  continued."3 

One  point  the  Plain  Dealer  missed.  Ryder's  brother- 
in-law,  Charles  Park,  occupied  a  front  seat.  Gazing 
at  him,  Artemus  told  the  tale  of  a  lazy  man  who,  rather 
than  walk  five  rods  to  a  spring,  took  a  cupful  of  hot 
water  from  a  tea-kettle  and  "blew"  it  cool  enough  to 
drink.  Then  saying  he  did  not  like  to  spoil  a  story  for 
relation's  sake,  identified  the  idler  as  "Charley  Park, 
sitting  right  down  there  in  the  second  seat."  An 
impromptu  reception  followed  at  the  Elephant  Club,  of 
which  he  had  been  a  member.  It  was  truly  a  night  of 
nights — such  as  has  not  since  been  duplicated  in  Cleve 
land.  More  than  fifteen  hundred  people  were  in  the 
audience.  The  receipts  were  given  to  the  Soldiers  Aid 
Society. 

February  was  also  a  busy  month.  One  of  the  trips 
carried  him  to  Maine,  where  he  fell  in  with  Charles  A. 
Shaw,  a  venturesome  and  agreeable  young  business 
man  residing  in  Biddeford,  with  whom  he  at  once 
struck  a  blood-brotherhood.  Shaw  undertook  the 
management  of  the  show  and  contributed  considerably 
to  its  continued  success.  The  two  traveled  together 
as  star  and  manager  for  a  time  and  the  tours  were 
prosperous.  Autograph -hunting  was  at  that  period 
a  national  misdemeanor.  Every  night  an  armful  of 

[110] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

albums  would  be  found  in  the  lecturer's  room.  Often 
he  would  be  so  exhausted  that  he  would  throw  himself 
on  the  bed,  with  his  feet  on  the  footboard,  and  refuse  to 
see  anybody,  much  less  to  write  autographs.  Being  the 
right  kind  of  an  agent,  Mr.  Shaw  would  sit  down  and 
write  up  the  autographs  himself,  that  the  community 
of  collectors  might  feel  good  in  the  morning  when  they 
called  for  their  books. 

The  success  of  the  lecture  soon  led  to  dropping  the 
regular  connection  with  Vanity  Fair.  There  are  traces 
of  his  pen  in  the  early  winter  of  1862,  but  the  only 
signed  "piece"  was  published  April  26th.  That  he  had 
left  its  employ  before  this  is  shown  by  the  following 
paragraph,  printed  in  the  issue  of  April  19th,  the  only 
editorial  reference  ever  made  to  him: 

"TO  FOUR  HUNDRED   CORRESPONDENTS 

"We  have  been  overwhelmed,  of  late,  with  com 
munications  from  ladies  and  gentlemen  expiring  to 
know  whether  VANITY  FAIR  has  ever  been  in  control  of 
the  unctuous  and  urbane  Mr.  Brown,  of  Grace  Church. 
Also,  whether  Mr.  Brown,  of  Grace  Church,  is  not 
known  in  literary  circles  as  Artemus  Ward.  To  these 
inquiries  we  answer  in  the  Degative.  There  are — or 
were — two  Mr.  Browns  residing  in  New  York,  and  by 
one  of  these,  Mr.  Charles  F.  Browne,  alias  Artemus 
Ward,  this  journal  was  for  a  while  ably  conducted. 
We  do  not  in  any  way  mean  to  disparage  the  unctuous 
and  urbane  Mr.  Brown,  of  Grace  Church,  by  this 
explanation.  In  special  reply  to  one  of  our  anxious 
inquirers — a  fair  one,  we  suppose,  as  she  appends  to 

[ill] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

her  note  the  signature  'Blondula' — we  have  the  honor 
to  state  that  Artemus  Ward  is  quite  a  good-looking 
young  man  and  altogether  unmarried." 

The  "unctuous  and  urbane"  Mr.  Brown  in  ques 
tion  was  the  fashionable  sexton  of  Grace  Church,  with 
out  whose  presence  no  wedding  or  funeral  in  that 
Gothic  structure  was  complete.  He,  indeed,  reached 
the  dignity  of  an  institution  and  held  the  position  in 
New  York  society  for  many  years.  His  dictum  on  the 
proprieties  was  law. 

The  publication  of  April  26th  was  "Artemus  Ward 
in  Washington,"  an  echo  of  a  lecture  trip  to  the  capi 
tal,  containing  a  galaxy  of  good  things  and  amusing 
allusions. 

Mr.  Lincoln's  biographers  have  noted  the  keen  de 
light  with  which  the  President  turned  from  the  torturing 
strain  of  public  affairs  to  the  jokes  of  Artemus  Ward 
and  the  disgust  of  Secretary  Stanton  that  he  should 
be  desirous  of  diverting  himself  with  nonsense  at 
critical  times.  But  Mr.  Lincoln,  besides  being  what 
Mr.  Stanton  was  also,  a  great  patriot  and  statesman, 
was  a  Western  American,  and  he  saw  in  the  showman's 
stories  the  real  humor  of  the  people  whom  he  himself 
knew  so  well,  and  chuckled  in  the  presence  of  defeat 
and  disaster  at  the  whimsicalities,  to  the  comfort  of 
his  soul.  Mr.  Stanton  had  no  sense  of  humor.  His 
mind  never  seemed  to  require  rest.  Lincoln's  did,  and 
found  it  in  jests  and  varied  tales.  Possibly  Stanton's 
feeling  may  have  had  its  rise  in  this  paragraph,  given 
in  the  sketch  as  a  parting  adjuration  to  the  President: 

"Tell  E.  Stanton  that  his  boldness,  honesty,  and 
vigger  merits  all  praise,  but  to  keep  his  undergarments 

[112] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY   FAIR' 

on.  E.  Stanton  has  apparently  only  one  weakness, 
which  it  is,  he  can't  allers  keep  his  undergarments  from 
flying  up  over  his  head." 

Mr.  Stanton  lived  to  make  humble  acknowledgment 
of  his  mistake.  It  is  a  matter  of  curious  record  that 
at  the  Cabinet  meeting  held  September  22,  1862,  to 
consider  the  final  form  of  the  Emancipation  Proclama 
tion,  President  Lincoln  read  "A  High-handed  Outrage 
at  Utica"  before  the  solemn  discussion  began.  This  is 
Stanton's  own  version  of  the  incident  as  once  related 
by  him  to  Judge  Hamilton  Ward,  of  New  York: 

"On  the  22d  of  September,  1862,  I  had  a  sudden  and 
peremptory  call  to  a  Cabinet  meeting  at  the  White 
House.  They  did  not  usually  require  me  to  attend 
those  meetings,  as  my  duties  were  so  exacting  I  had 
to  be  constantly  at  my  post,  and  it  was  only  on  rare 
and  important  occasions  that  I  was  asked  to  be  present. 
I  went  immediately  to  the  White  House,  entered  the 
room,  and  found  the  historic  War  Cabinet  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  assembled,  every  member  being  present.  The 
President  hardly  noticed  me  as  I  came  in.  He  was 
reading  a  book  of  some  kind,  which  seemed  to  amuse 
him.  It  was  a  little  book.  He  finally  turned  to  us 
and  said:  'Gentlemen,  did  you  ever  read  anything 
from  Artemus  Ward?  Let  me  read  you  a  chapter  that 
is  very  funny.'  Not  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  smiled; 
as  for  myself,  I  was  angry,  and  looked  to  see  what  the 
President  meant.  It  seemed  to  me  like  buffoonery. 
He,  however,  concluded  to  read  us  a  chapter  from 
Artemus  Ward,  which  he  did  with  great  deliberation, 
and,  having  finished,  laughed  heartily,  without  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Cabinet  joining  in  the  laughter.  'Well,'  he 

9  [113] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

said,  *  let's  have  another  chapter,'  and  he  read  another 
chapter,  to  our  great  astonishment.  I  was  considering 
whether  I  should  rise  and  leave  the  meeting  abruptly, 
when  he  threw  his  book  down,  heaved  a  sigh,  and  said: 
'Gentlemen,  why  don't  you  laugh?  With  the  fearful 
strain  that  is  upon  me  night  and  day,  if  I  did  not 
laugh  I  should  die,  and  you  need  this  medicine  as  much 
as  I  do.' 

"He  then  put  his  hand  in  his  tall  hat  that  sat  upon 
the  table,  and  pulled  out  a  little  paper.  Turning  to 
the  members  of  the  Cabinet,  he  said:  'Gentlemen,  I 
have  called  you  here  on  very  important  business.  I 
have  prepared  a  little  paper  of  much  significance.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  that  this  paper  is  to  issue; 
that  the  time  has  come  when  it  should  issue;  that 
the  people  are  ready  for  it  to  issue.  It  is  due  to  my 
Cabinet  that  you  should  be  the  first  to  hear  and  know 
of  it,  and  if  any  of  you  have  any  suggestions  to  make 
as  to  the  form  of  this  paper  or  its  composition,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  hear  them;  but  the  paper  is  to  issue/ 
And,  to  my  astonishment,  he  read  the  Emancipation 
Proclamation  of  that  date,  containing  the  vital  pro 
vision  that  on  January  1,  1863,  'all  persons  held  as 
slaves  within  any  state  or  designated  part  of  a  state, 
the  people  whereof  shall  be  then  in  rebellion  against 
the  United  States,  shall  be  then  henceforth  and  for 
ever  free.'  I  have  always  tried  to  be  calm,  but  I  think 
I  lost  my  calmness  for  a  moment,  and  with  great 
enthusiasm  I  arose,  approached  the  President,  ex 
tended  my  hand,  and  said:  'Mr.  President,  if  reading 
chapters  of  Artemus  Ward  is  a  prelude  to  such  a  deed 
as  this,  the  book  should  be  filed  among  the  archives 

[114] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR" 

of  the  nation  and  the  author  should  be  canonized. 
Henceforth  I  see  the  light,  and  the  country  is  saved'; 
and  all  said,  'Amen.'  And  Lincoln  said  to  me  in  a 
droll  way  as  I  was  leaving,  'Stanton,  it  would  have  been 
too  early  last  spring.'  And  as  I  look  back  upon  it  I 
think  the  President  was  right." 

In  the  worn  and  much-used  pocket  note-book  before 
mentioned  are  to  be  found  memoranda  that  afterward 
scintillated  in  this  letter  from  Washington,  including 
the  mournful  recollection  of  a  man  "who  was  so  mean 
he  took  his  wife's  coffin  out  of  the  window  for  fear  it 
would  rub  the  paint  off  the  doorway." 

"Artemus  Ward  in  Washington"  pins  this  tale  to 
an  interview  with  President  Lincoln,  thus: 

"I  called  on  Abe.  He  received  me  kindly.  Handed 
him  my  umbrella  and  told  him  I'd  have  a  check  for  it 
if  he  pleased.  'That,'  he  said,  'puts  me  in  mind  of  a 
little  story.  There  was  a  man  out  in  our  parts  who 
was  so  mean  that  he  took  his  wife's  coffin  out  of  the 
back  window  for  fear  he  would  rub  the  paint  off  the 
doorway.  Wall,  about  this  time  there  was  a  man 
in  an  adjacent  town  who  had  a  green-cotton  um- 
breller.' 

"Did  it  fit  him  well?  Was  it  customed  made? 
Was  he  measured  for  it?  The  umbreller.' 

''Wall,  as  I  was  sayin','  continued  the  President, 
treatin  the  interruption  with  apparent  contempt,  'this 
man  sed  he'd  known  that  there  umbreller  ever  since 
it  was  a  parasol !": 

There  is  no  record  that  Artemus  ever  met  the 
President  face  to  face,  but  their  admirations  were  mu 
tual.  His  habit  of  picking  up  odd  sayings  as  he 

[115] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

traveled  and  incorporating  them  in  his  writings  was 
also  in  evidence  in  this  letter.  Just  before  his  visit  to 
Washington  he  had  journeyed  from  Water ville  to 
Portland,  Maine,  with  his  friend  Charles  A.  Shaw, 
when  his  ears  were  tickled  with  the  oft-repeated  phrase 
used  by  a  man  behind  him  who  was  telling  the  story 
of  a  marital  disappointment,  "The  reason  why  he 
couldn't  have  her  was  because  he  was  a  drunken 
sailor."  In  his  account  of  his  interview  with  Secretary 
Welles,  in  the  Washington  letter,  he  brings  it  in: 

"I  called  on  Secretary  Welles  of  the  Navy.  You 
know  he  is  quite  a  mariner  himself,  having  once  owned 
a  Raft  of  logs  on  the  Connecticut  River.  So  I  put 
on  saler  stile  and  hollered:  'Ahoy,  shipmet!  Tip  us 
yer  grapplin'-irons !' 

"'Yes,  yes!'  he  sed,  nervously,  'but  mercy  on  us, 
don't  be  so  noisy.' 

"'Aye,  aye,  my  hearty.  But  let  me  sing  about  how 
Jack  Stokes  lost  his  gal: 

"'"The  reason  why  he  couldn't  gain  her 
Was  becoz  he's  drunken  saler!"' 

"'That's  very  good,  indeed,'  said  the  Secky,  'but 
this  is  hardly  the  place  to  sing  songs  in,  my  friend.' 

"'Let  me  write  the  songs  of  a  nashun,'  sed  I,  'and 
I  don't  care  a  cuss  who  goes  to  the  legislator!  But  I 
ax  your  pardon — how's  things?"1 

The  first  sentence  of  the  last  paragraph  is  embedded 
in  the  old  note-book.  Several  other  bits  of  penciled 
memory  from  the  note-book  recall  this  visit  to  Wash 
ington.  One  reads,  "I  hastily  gathered  up  Treasury 
notes  under  the  impression  that  I  was  a  member  of 

[116] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

Congress."  Another  is  more  mysterious:  "Hearse, 
you  have  no  idea  of  the  extent  of  our  bar  business." 
The  note  has  this  explanation  in  the  account  of  his 
adventures  in  the  District  of  Columbia: 

"Washington,  D.  C.,  is  the  capital  of  our  once  happy 
country,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  koin  a  frase.  The 
D.  C.  stands  for  Desprit  Cusses,  a  numerosity  of  which 
abounds  here,  the  most  of  whom  persess  a  Romantic 
pashun  for  gratitious  drinks.  And  in  this  conjunction 
I  will  relate  an  incident.  I  notist  for  several  days  a 
large  hearse  standin  in  front  of  the  principal  tavern  on 
Pennsylvany  Evenoo.  'Can  you  tell  me  my  fair 
Castillian,'  sed  I  this  morning,  to  a  young  Spaniard 
from  Tipperary,  who  was  blackin  boots  in  the  wash 
room — 'can  you  tell  me  what  those  hearse  is  kept 
standin  out  there  for?'  'Well,  you  see  our  bar  bisness 
is  great.  You've  no  idea  of  the  number  of  people  who 
drink  at  our  bar  during  a  day.  You  see  those  hearse 
is  necessary.'  I  saw." 

Concerning  his  abandoned  editorship  he  once  said: 
"Comic  copy  is  what  they  wanted  for  Vanity  Fair. 
I  wrote  some  and  it  killed  it.  The  poor  paper  got  to 
be  a  conundrum  and  so  I  gave  it  up." 

This  was  not  quite  fair  either  to  himself  or  to  the 
paper.  They  remained  friends  as  long  as  it  lived,  which 
was  until  the  Fourth  of  July,  1863. 

Derby  &  Jackson  having  discontinued  business  under 
the  pressure  of  the  times,  His  Book  was  bundled  into 
a  green-baize  bag  and  taken  to  George  W.  Carleton. 
It  was  a  mass  of  ill-gathered  scribbling  and  clippings. 
The  Hoyt  drawings  had  been  lost 

"I  remember  that  Artemus  came  to  me  and  gave 

[117] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

me  his  manuscript  and  newspaper  clippings  and  left 
them  with  me  to  decide  whether  I  would  publish  them 
in  a  book,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  thirty  years  after,  in 
recalling  the  incident. 

"Two  things  struck  me  forcibly:  Ward's  appearance 
and  the  bad  and  almost  illegible  manuscript,  blotted 
here  and  there,  stuck  with  mucilage,  and  plastered  with 
newspaper   clippings.      Artemus   looked   to   me   then 
somewhat  like  the  caricature  of  Uncle  Sam,  only  he 
never  wore  his  trousers  quite  so  short.     His  hair  was 
long  and  rather  unkempt,  and  he  appeared  at  first  a 
serious  man.     Looking  at  him  at  the  time,  I  wondered 
if  there  could  possibly  be  any  humor  in  him.     I  told 
him  that  I  would  look  over  his  stuff  and  decide  what 
I  could  do,  but  not  immediately.     He  said  time  was  no 
object,  and  strode  out.     His  manuscript  came  near 
giving  me  the  nightmare,  it  was  so  mixed  and  written 
all   over   everything.     It   was   months   before  I   con 
cluded  to  publish  his  book.     I  did  not  have  so  much 
faith  in  Artemus  at  that  time,  for  he  was  comparatively 
unknown;    Doesticks  and  John  Phoenix  were  popular 
and  their  works  were  selling  well.     Before  long  his 
work  on  Vanity  Fair  began  to  show,  and  I  soon  saw 
that  he  was  more  than  an  ordinary  humorist,   and 
decided  to  publish  his  book.     It  was  a  job  to  get  his 
manuscript  straightened  out  and  put  together  right. 
I  had  not  only  to  edit,  but  to  write  a  good  deal;    so 
much  so  that  Artemus  said  to  me  one  day,  'The  next 
book  I  write,  I'm  going  to  get  you  to  write."1 

Carleton  seems  to  have  accepted  the  book  in  the 
fall  of  1861.  There  is  mention  of  it  in  the  following 
letter,  written  when  plans  for  the  lecture  were  being 

[118] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

settled,    answering   an   inquiry   as   to   the   chance   of 
Ward's  visiting  Down  East  at  an  early  date: 


YORK,  Nov.  19,  1861. 

"DEAR  MR.  FLETCHER:  I  have  an  appointment  at 
Portland,  but  none  at  Bangor  or  Portsmouth  —  un 
fortunately  for  those  places,  as  I  cannot  but  think 
they  need  some  cheerful  paragraphs  down  that  way. 

"I  had  not  forgotten  your  introducing  me  to  Gov. 
Raymond,  but  I  have  scarcely  felt  like  bothering  him 
about  my  lecture  tour.  He  lectures  himself  and 
might  be  jealous  of  me! 

"I  shall  try  and  reach  you  on  the  four-o'clock  train. 

"Many  thanks  for  the  letter  to  Prof.  Angell  —  and 
many  thanks  for  your  kindness  generally. 

"Very  truly  yours, 

C.  F.  BROWNE. 

"P.  S.  —  Rudd  &  Carleton  are  about  to  issue  my 
'stuff'  in  book  form,  illustrated  by  Stephens.  The 
volume  will  be  launched  under  very  bright  auspices, 
and  I  am  consequently  happy." 

Notice  was  given  that  the  book  would  be  forthcoming, 
in  the  columns  of  Vanity  Fair,  which  offered  it  as  a 
premium  to  subscribers  in  the  initial  number  of  Volume 
IV,  January  4,  1862,  where  it  was  described  as  "A  copy 
of  the  Artemus  Ward  Letters,  shortly  to  be  published 
by  Rudd  &  Carleton.  Price,  one  dollar."  Three  dol 
lars  secured  the  book  and  paper  combined  for  one  year 
—a  great  bargain  as  it  turned  out.  Mr.  Rudd  left 
the  firm,  and  the  real  title  was  first  given  in  the  premium 

[119] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

announcement  for  March  9th,  Artemus  Ward:  His 
Book,  to  be  published  by  "Carleton."  It  was  finally 
issued  May  17,  1862,  dedicated  to  Charles  W.  Coe,  of 
Cleveland,  "a  friend  all  the  year  round."  The  illus 
trations  were  pick-ups  from  Vanity  Fair,  supplemented 
by  several  new  ones  by  Henry  L.  Stephens. 

Forty  thousand  copies  were  sold  outright,  an  enor 
mous  edition  for  the  time.  The  author  was  paid  fifteen 
cents  royalty  on  each  copy.  "He  was  living  in  very 
cheap  lodgings  in  St.  John's  Square,"  recalled  Mr. 
Carleton  in  the  interview  quoted  above,  "when  I 
called  upon  him  to  pay  him  six  thousand  dollars,  his 
share  of  the  profits.  I  found  him  in  a  small  hall  room, 
and  paid  him  over  the  money  that  started  him  on  his 
career  now  so  well  known." 

The  "small  hall  room"  was  in  a  house  on  Varick 
Street,  the  first  to  the  right  hand  from  Canal  Street, 
between  that  thoroughfare  and  St.  John's  Park.  In 
after-years  Artemus  paused  in  one  of  his  sketches  to 
note  with  emotion  that  the  house  in  Varick  Street  in 
which  he  used  to  board  was  being  torn  down  and  that 
some  of  the  timbers,  converted  into  canes,  were  cheap 
at  a  dollar.  They  would  have  been,  indeed,  had  they 
existed. 

A  week  after  the  publication  of  the  book  Vanity  Fair 
honored  its  ex-editor  with  a  first-page  cartoon  showing 
"Artemus  Ward  as  a  Popular  Lecturer/'  which  he  had 
become.  The  immediate  success  of  the  volume  made 
it  easy  for  him  to  pick  his  ground  for  platform  work, 
which  he  did  with  such  skill  that  there  were  few  failures 
to  draw. 

He  was  his  own  press  agent,  and  one  of  the  best. 

[120] 


The 

WOO 


ARTEMUS  WARD  AS  A  PUBLIC  LECTURER 

(Cartoon  from  Vanity  Fair,  May  24,  1862) 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

His  easy  intimacy  with  the  profession  and  liking  for  the 
printing  trade  made  him  steer  for  the  newspaper-office 
as  soon  as  he  reached  a  town.  That  he  sometimes 
called  on  others  for  aid  is  evidenced  by  this  appeal  sent 
to  James  R.  Osgood,  from  Waterford,  July  29,  1862: 

"Carleton  says  the  newspaper  will  print  it  quicker 
for  the  author  than  for  the  publisher — as  they  (you  and 
I  know  him  unjustly)  regard  publishers  as  pirates  and 
bloodthirsty  robbers.  Can  you  get  it  into  the  Post 
and  into  the  Transcript,  which  I  suppose  nobody  in 
Boston  can  drink  tea  without.  Am  I  asking  too  much? 
Am  I  a  nuisance?" 

Osgood  was  also  an  Oxford  bear,  as  natives  of  that 
Maine  County  like  to  call  themselves,  having  been 
born  in  Fryeburg,  a  few  miles  west  of  Waterford.  He 
was  then  beginning  a  notable  career  as  a  publisher  in 
Boston.  Search  of  the  Transcript  files  fails  to  reveal 
any  result  of  the  appeal,  though  it  was  a  liberal  user 
of  jokes  culled  from  Vanity  Fair. 

Artemus  spent  a  pleasant  summer  at  the  homestead 
and  found  time  to  prepare  three  "pieces"  for  Vanity 
Fair,  all  superior:  "The  Draft  in  Bald  wins  ville,"  pub 
lished  September  20th;  "The  Showman  at  Home," 
October  llth,  and  "A.  Ward  in  Canada,"  November 
1st.  He  also  concocted  a  new  lecture,  "Sixty  Minutes 
in  Africa." 

The  partnership  with  Shaw,  though  profitable,  was 
subject  to  interruption,  caused  by  the  latter's  other 
interests,  which  included  the  promotion  of  sewing- 
machine  factories  and  a  jewelry  business  in  Biddeford. 
Artemus,  feeling  the  need  of  more  certain  and  expert 
management,  kept  Doctor  Kingston  in  mind.  By 

[121] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

happy  chance  that  gentleman  turned  up  eighteen 
months  after  the  trip  to  Louisville  and  found  Artemus 
Ward  on  the  platform  in  Philadelphia  retailing  jokes 
in  "Sixty  Minutes  in  Africa" — much  the  same  ones 
that  had  lain  in  the  cradle  of  "The  Babes."  The 
lecture  was  given  in  the  Musical  Fund  Hall.  A  big 
map  of  Africa  hung  upon  the  wall  back  of  the  platform, 
to  which  he  would  occasionally  refer,  as,  for  instance, 
pointing  to  Ethiopia:  "Here  in  the  center  of  the 
African  continent  is  what  is  called  a  'howling  wilder 
ness/  but  for  my  part  I  never  heard  it  howl,  nor  met 
with  any  one  who  has.  It  abounds  in  various  natural 
productions,  such  as  reptiles  and  flowers.  It  produces 
the  red  rose,  the  white  rose,  and  the  neg-roes." 

Then  he  wound  up  the  hour's  foolery  with  this  word 
of  dismissal  to  audience  and  title: 

"Africa  is  my  subject.  You  wish  me  to  tell  you 
something  about  Africa.  Africa  is  on  the  map.  It's 
on  all  the  maps  of  Africa  I  have  ever  seen.  You  may 
buy  a  good  map  of  Africa  for  a  dollar.  If  you  will 
study  it  well  you  will  know  more  about  Africa  than 
I  do.  It  is  a  comprehensive  subject — too  vast,  I 
assure  you,  for  me  to  enter  upon  to-night.  You  would 
not  wish  me  to — I  feel  that — I  feel  it  deeply  and  I  am 
very  sensitive.  If  you  go  home  and  go  to  bed — it  will 
be  better  for  you  than  to  go  with  me  to  Africa!" 

After  the  lecture  he  took  Kingston  with  him  to  his 
room  in  the  Continental,  where  they  were  soon  joined 
by  the  stars  from  Carncross  &  Dixey's  minstrels,  just 
then  becoming  a  Philadelphia  institution.  There  was 
plenty  of  wit  and  refreshment,  and  the  night  wound  up 
at  a  fashionable  "colored"  ball.  His  head  was  full  of 

[122] 


NEW    YORK  —  "VANITY    FAIR' 

plans  for  new  lecture  routes,  which  Kingston  took  under 
consideration,  and  a  new  book.  This  was  in  early 
1863.  Concerning  the  book  he  wrote  Carleton: 

"DEAR  CARL:  You  and  I  will  get  out  a  book  next 
spring  that  will  knock  spots  out  of  all  comic  books  in 
ancient  or  modern  history.  And  the  fact  that  you  are 
going  to  take  hold  of  it  convinces  me  that  you  have 
one  of  the  most  massive  intellects  in  this  or  any  other 
epoch. 

"Yours,  my  pretty  gazelle, 

ARTEMUS  WARD." 

"The  next  spring"  promise  made  Carleton  for  a  book 
that  was  to  "knock  the  spots  out  of  all  comic  books" 
was  not  kept,  either  then  or  the  spring  following.  The 
platform  and  the  pleasures  of  life  absorbed  all  his 
energies — which  were  none  too  great.  Success  re 
mained  with  him  and  life  was  easy,  except  when  he 
himself  made  it  hard  with  too  much  companionship  and 
radiation,  for  which  he  got  small  return  and  physical 
exhaustion.  He  recuperated  at  the  homestead  in 
Waterford,  or  in  idle  trips  about  the  country. 

In  the  winter  of  1863  the  showman's  wanderings 
carried  him  as  far  south  as  Memphis,  then  safely  in 
Federal  hands,  where  Gen.  William  Tecumseh  Sher 
man  had  his  headquarters  in  the  campaign  against 
Vicksburg.  The  movement  under  his  direct  command 
had  failed  and  the  field  work  had  been  turned  over  to 
John  A.  McClernand,  leaving  Sherman  to  look  after 
the  troubles  of  Tennessee.  These  were  plentiful,  in 
cluding  the  complaints  of  the  numerous  citizens  who 


123 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

had  suffered  for  their  loyalty  during  the  conflict,  and 
expected  special  consideration,  resenting  any  shown 
their  Confederate  neighbors.  This  reminded  Artemus 
of  folks  in  Waterford.  "They  howl  very  loud  for  the 
old  flag,"  he  told  Sherman,  "but  when  the  wind  blows 
a  hole  in  it,  there  isn't  any  one  in  the  town  who  would 
buy  a  piece  of  bunting  to  patch  it." 

One  of  the  most  persistent  complainants  was  a 
Union  woman,  with  a  husband  in  the  Confederate 
army,  who  protested  against  the  stealing  of  her  chickens 
by  members  of  the  Federal  forces. 

"Madam,"  replied  the  general  after  much  patient 
listening,  "the  integrity  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
unity  of  the  Republic  must  be  maintained  if  it  takes 
every  chicken  in  Tennessee." 

Sherman  had  an  austere  repute  in  the  public  mind 
and  a  distinct  dislike  for  newspaper  folks,  but  he  took 
kindly  to  Artemus  and  a  great  friendship  resulted 
between  them.  They  dined  together  at  the  Gayoso 
House  and  supped  at  a  little  Italian  restaurant  on  Front 
Street,  with  plenty  of  pleasant  company,  including 
Dan  Rice,  of  circus  fame,  and  Melville  D.  Landon,  who 
afterward  made  some  minor  name  himself  as  a  humorist 
and  lecturer  under  the  guise  of  "Eli  Perkins."  Landon 
was  a  major  on  the  staff  of  Gen.  A.  L.  Chetlain,  and 
this  army  relationship  brought  in  many  dashing 
companions. 

The  summer  of  1863  Artemus  spent,  as  usual,  at 
Waterford,  where  he  astonished  the  natives  by  strolling 
about  in  a  gorgeously  figured  damask  dressing-gown, 
wearing  a  smoking-cap  perched  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  with  a  big  gilt  tassel  depending  radiantly  there- 

[124] 


NEW    YORK  — "VANITY    FAIR' 

from.  He  returned  to  New  York  with  the  idea  of 
visiting  California  uppermost  in  his  mind.  Kingston 
had  been  there  on  one  trip  as  an  amusement  manager 
and  was  sounded  as  to  the  possibilities,  with  the  result 
that  an  agreement  was  reached  by  which  they  were 
to  go  together  as  manager  and  attraction.  The  desire 
was  sharpened  by  a  telegram,  which  found  Mr.  Ward 
lounging  in  Carleton's  office,  from  Thomas  Maguire, 
the  enterprising  manager  of  the  San  Francisco  Opera 
House,  reading,"  What  will  you  take  for  forty  nights  in 
California?" 

Straightway  the  reply  went  back  over  the  transcon 
tinental  wire,  "Brandy  and  water." 

This  cryptic  message  puzzled  Maguire,  who  at  first 
thought  it  something  in  code.  The  joke  at  last 
penetrated,  the  reporters  got  hold  of  it,  and  the  widely 
circulated  despatch  proved  a  good  advance  agent,  when 
its  writer  at  last  reached  the  Coast,  where  plenty  of  the 
commingled  fluids  were  in  waiting. 

Artemus  was  too  speculative  and  too  much  of  a 
Yankee  to  "hire  out."  This  was  his  delicate  way  of 
saying  so. 

In  making  the  California  venture,  the  lure  of  the 
land  of  gold  was,  of  course,  the  main  influence,  but  he 
was  moved  not  a  little  by  the  letters  of  John  Phoenix, 
otherwise  Lieut.  George  Horatio  Derby,  U.S.A.  These 
productions,  a  source  of  national  glee  in  the  middle 
'fifties  and  up  to  the  decease  of  their  author  in  1861, 
had  an  undoubted  share  in  inspiring  Artemus  Ward  to 
enter  the  field  of  mirth.  Derby  struck  the  same  note  of 
exaggeration  and  whimsicality  that  Artemus  sounded, 
but  in  a  style  quite  his  own  and  in  the  best  of  English. 

[125] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

His  satires  on  the  "Coast"  were  keen,  and  the  hits, 
though  local,  broad  enough  to  excite  general  interest. 
They  were  gathered  into  book  form  in  1856,  about  the 
time  our  humorist  began  to  note  the  comic  currents 
of  life. 

Besides  all  this,  the  lectures  were  palling  a  little 
on  lecturer  and  audiences  alike.  Both  were  longing 
for  something  new.  True,  he  had  entertained  his 
audiences  under  a  new  title,  "Ghosts,"  taken  at  the 
suggestion  of  Thomas  De  Walden,  a  play- writing  New- 
Yorker,  and  one  of  his  intimates,  who  urged  utilizing 
the  stir  made  in  the  amusement  world  by  the  optical 
illusion  known  as  "Pepper's  Ghost,"  then  very 
popular.  The  "Ghosts"  were  mainly  those  of  the  old 
jokes  in  "The  Babes"  and  "Sixty  Minutes  in  Africa." 
There  was  hope  for  fresh  material  as  well  as  adventure 
in  the  Golden  West. 

The  routing  of  the  expedition  provided  for  a  steamer 
journey  to  San  Francisco  via  the  Isthmus  of  Panama 
and  a  return  across  the  continent,  then  unspanned 
by  rail.  Kingston  demurred  to  this.  It  was  no  light 
undertaking  to  ride  over  the  great  plains,  at  their  best, 
teeming  as  they  did  with  hostile  Indians.  A  summer 
trip  was  bad  enough,  but  the  program  required  win 
ter  traveling.  Artemus,  however,  was  obdurate.  He 
wanted  to  lecture  in  Salt  Lake  City  and  see  Brigham 
Young,  having,  of  course,  a  deeper  purpose — that  of 
turning  the  Mormons  to  account — in  his  mind. 

"There  was  a  man  in  the  next  street  to  me,"  he 
said,  "who  committed  suicide  because  he  could  not 
get  on  with  two  wives.  I  want  to  see  how  a  man  can 
get  along  who  has  fifty." 

[126] 


NEW   YORK  — "VANITY   FAIR5' 

So  it  was  agreed  that  the  overland  route  home  should 
be  used  if  practicable. 

When  Samuel  Booth,  the  printer  in  Duane  Street, 
was  packing  the  posters,  prepared  for  use  on  the  Pacific 
slope,  Artemus  remarked  to  Kingston,  who  was  over 
seeing  the  operation : 

"I  hope  you  have  kept  a  couple  of  bills  out  loose." 

Hingston  replied  that  he  had  reserved  a  number  for 
carriage  in  his  trunk  to  be  posted  en  route  at  Aspinwall, 
Panama,  and  Acapulco. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  remarked  his  employer,  "but 
I  want  you  to  have  two  loose  in  your  pocket,  with  a 
hammer  and  some  nails." 

"To  use  where?" 

"When  the  steamer  gets  to  San  Francisco  it  will 
have  to  pass  through  the  Golden  Gate,"  Artemus  re 
plied,  soberly.  "Now  I  have  never  seen  it  myself,  but 
as  you  go  through  I  want  you  to  stop  the  steamer  and 
just  nail  up  one  of  my  bills  on  each  side  of  the  Gate." 

Moved  to  outdo  this  suggestion,  Hingston  remarked 
that  if  this  was  not  enough  he  would  organize  a  torch 
light  procession  to  parade  on  the  night  of  his  arrival  at 
San  Francisco. 

"Do  it  before  I  arrive,"  he  responded,  "and  have  a 
great  wax  figure  of  me  in  a  chariot,  with  my  babes  on 
each  side  of  me."  The  "Ghosts"  had  been  tried  out 
at  Niblo's  Salon,  an  annex  to  the  famous  Garden. 
The  notices  were  favorable.  "Take  them  with  you," 
observed  Artemus  Ward  to  Hingston,  "and  have  the 
notices  copied.  We  shall  want  the  ghost  to  walk  in 
California." 


10 


[127] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,   AND   UTAH 

TT  was  arranged  that  Kingston  should  precede  his 
-••  principal  by  a  fortnight  and  prepare  proper  eclat 
for  his  reception  at  the  Golden  Gate.  He  therefore 
sailed  from  New  York  on  the  North  Star,  October  3, 
1863,  well  provided  with  lithograph  portraits,  the  bills 
"sculpt  by  Sammy  Booth,"  and  one  hundred  copies  of 
Artemus  Ward:  His  Book.  He  reached  the  Isthmus 
in  due  season,  hung  up  a  few  posters  and  pictures  at 
Aspinwall  and  Panama  to  show  Artemus  Ward  he  was 
"on  his  job,"  and  then  proceeded  to  San  Francisco  on 
the  steamer  Golden  Age. 

Artemus  passed  the  interval  preceding  his  own  de 
parture  in  making  a  visit  to  his  mother  at  Waterford. 
He  sailed  from  New  York  on  the  steamer  Ariel  on 
October  13,  1863.  The  ship  was  crowded  and  uncom 
fortable.  In  his  notes  on  the  voyage  he  remarks,  "She 
is  a  miserable  tub  at  the  best,"  and  expresses  regret 
that  Raphael  Semmes,  of  the  Alabama,  who  once  cap 
tured  the  Ariel,  had  not  made  mincemeat  of  her. 
Nine  disagreeable  days  were  spent  at  sea  before 
Aspinwall  was  reached.  Crossing  the  Isthmus  by  rail, 
he  paused  briefly  at  the  Howard  House  in  Panama, 
and  then  on  a  "cheerful  and  well-appointed  boat,"  the 
St.  Louis,  Captain  Hudson,  left  for  California.  The 
vessel  made  landings  at  Acapulco  and  a  few  Pacific 

[128] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

ports.  After  an  uneventful  trip  San  Francisco  was 
reached  on  Sunday,  November  1,  1863.  Here  he  met 
with  a  warm  welcome.  The  diligent  Kingston  had 
made  good  use  of  the  time.  All  the  newspapers  were 
filled  with  points  on  the  lecture,  and  open  hospitality 
awaited  his  employer,  who  was  driven  to  the  Occidental 
Hotel,  then  lavishly  run  by  Louis  Leland,  of  the  famous 
inn-keeping  family.  The  hack-driver  advised  him  that, 
as  he  was  there  to  amuse  folks,  the  fare  would  be  only 
five  dollars.  A  leading  citizen  was  on  hand  to  invite 
him  to  dinner.  The  trunk  with  Artemus  Ward's  best 
clothes  had  not  been  removed  from  the  steamer.  He 
pleaded  this  as  an  excuse  for  declining. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  host,  "it  doesn't  matter 
what  you  wear  in  California." 

"That's  fortunate.  I  never  was  much,"  retorted 
Artemus. 

The  joke  traveled  and  did  its  share  in  the  advertising. 
The  telegraphic  correspondence  with  Maguire  had  also 
served  well.  The  latter  was  anxious  to  secure  control 
of  the  tour,  but  Kingston  concluded  they  would  fare 
better  independently,  and  his  opinion  was  justified  by 
the  outcome.  He  selected  Platt's  Hall  as  the  place  for 
opening,  and  here,  on  the  evening  of  November  13, 
1863,  "The  Babes  in  the  Wood"  were  "trotted  out," 
according  to  promise.  One  dollar  in  gold  was  the 
admission  price,  and  more  than  sixteen  hundred  persons 
paid  it.  So  fast,  indeed,  did  the  dollars  come  that  they 
baffled  accounting  and  were  tossed  into  a  hat  held  out 
by  the  door-tender.  Their  weight  broke  the  crown 
of  the  head-gear  and  many  rolled  away.  Almost  as 
many  more  could  not  get  in.  Thomas  Starr  King, 

[129] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

the  eminent  Unitarian  divine,  welcomed  the  lecturer  on 
the  platform,  and,  to  help  with  good-will,  Maguire 
closed  his  opera-house  for  the  night.  Returning  to  the 
hotel  after  the  lecture,  a  brass  band  gave  a  serenade, 
to  which  half  the  city  listened.  It  was  indeed  a 
triumph,  upon  which  Kingston  lingers  lovingly  in  his 
reminiscences. 

San  Francisco  was,  and  perhaps  always  will  be,  a 
man's  town.  It  was  built  for  men,  by  men  of  the  most 
adventurous  type,  to  suit  themselves  and  their  kind. 
They  were  exiles  who  had  made  an  old  country  new 
and  their  own.  To  such  the  humorist  had  a  peculiar 
appeal.  His  thoughts  were  their  thoughts,  grimly 
amusing,  .incongruous,  and  tinctured  with  pathos.  So 
his  welcome  was  prodigious. 

Naturally,  such  a  city  was  strong  on  amusements  and 
newspapers,  both  of  which  circumscribed  most  of 
Artemus  Ward's  interest  in  life.  There  were  plenty  of 
theaters;  the  California  on  Bush  Street,  then  under  the 
management  of  Lawrence  Barrett  and  John  McCul- 
lough,  and  backed  by  William  C.  Ralston,  produced 
plays  with  prodigious  splendor.  Strange  visitors  in 
cluded  Adah  Isaacs  Menken,  the  famous  "Mazeppa," 
traveling  with  Robert  H.  Newell,  a  very  recently  ac 
quired  husband,  who  had  taken  the  place  of  John  C. 
Heenan,  the  pugilist,  in  the  lady's  fervid  affections. 
Newell  had  made  a  conspicuous  name  for  himself  as 
author  of  the  "Orpheus  C.  Kerr"  papers,  published 
first  in  the  New  York  Sunday  Mercury,  and  then  in 
several  volumes  by  Carleton.  These  were  very  able 
and  humorous  letters  from  Washington  and  have  a 
deserved  place  in  the  literature  of  the  day.  The  pair 

[130] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

were  living  in  luxury  at  the  Ross  house.  It  was  a 
tradition  that  when  Newell  first  acquired  the, lady  he 
did  not  know  her  previous  ownership.  At  any  rate, 
they  were  not  long  husband  and  wife.  She  died,  not 
many  years  after,  in  Paris,  after  a  memorable  European 
career  and  an  odd  friendship  with  Charles  Dickens 
and  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne.  He  continued  to 
be  a  literary  figure  for  a  decade  and  then  faded  out  of 
sight,  being  found  dead  on  the  12th  of  July,  1901,  in 
the  home  of  his  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  C.  B.  Newell, 
128  First  Place,  Brooklyn,  where  he  lodged  during  the 
family's  absence  for  the  summer — a  forlorn  end  to  a 
brilliant  life! 

It  was  an  era  of  good  living  at  low  prices.  Artemus 
Ward  paid  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  per  day  at  the 
Occidental,  where,  according  to  the  gloating  Kingston, 
the  table  groaned  with  good  things — beef  from  Contra 
Costa,  potatoes  from  Bodegas;  richly  tinted  apples 
from  Oregon,  then  and  for  long  after  unknown  in  the 
East;  juicy  grapes  from  Sonoma;  strawberries  from 
Oakland,  and  luscious  peaches  from  Marysville.  The 
milk  was  rich  and  the  butter  "magnificent."  The  bar, 
too,  was  a  "commodious  apartment,  radiant  with  white 
marble,  gilt,  and  glittering  crystal,"  while  Mr.  Jerry 
Thomas,  the  keeper  thereof,  was  a  most  accomplished 
artist  who  had  written  a  book  on  the  proper  compound 
ing  of  mixed  drinks.  He  blazed  with  diamonds  and 
received  the  palatial  pay  of  one  hundred  dollars  per 
week. 

Several  minstrel  troupes  were  playing  in  the  city. 
They  greeted  the  lecturer  as  an  old  friend.  Kingston 
shrewdly  supplied  the  "end  men"  with  copies  of  His 

risn 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Book,  and  the  jokes  were  freely  interlarded  by  the 
interlocutors — all  of  which  increased  the  advertising. 

The  show  was  shifted  from  Platt's  Hall  to  the 
Metropolitan  Theater,  where  it  was  successfully  re 
peated  on  the  17th.  Betweentimes  Artemus  took  in 
the  town.  Maguire  often  acted  as  guide  as  well  as  an 
unselfish  counselor  and  friend.  He  took  the  showman 
to  Ralston's  bank  on  Sansome  Street,  asking  him  if  he 
would  like  to  walk  on  gold.  "I  should  like  to  dance 
on  it,"  was  the  reply 

This  came  duly  to  pass.  The  floor  of  the  vault  was 
paved  with  bricks  of  the  precious  metal.  Here,  after 
a  bottle  of  champagne  had  been  cracked,  the  showman 
gave  a  "breakdown"  with  much  saltatorial  success, 
while  Maguire  and  the  company  furnished  music  by 
whistling  the  air  of  "Hop  Light-Loo" — whatever 
that  might  have  been. 

Chinatown  made  a  warm  appeal  to  tne  visitor.  The 
almond-eyed  heathen  gave  him  the  novelty  for  which 
he  always  yearned.  Here  he  enjoyed  at  the  Celestial 
Theater  what  he  afterward  called  "sixteen  square 
yards  of  a  Chinese  comic  song,"  and  saw  a  people  who 
were  wholly  new,  but  by  no  means  devoid  of  humor  or 
the  capacity  for  appreciating  a  joke. 

The  first  lecture  outside  of  San  Francisco  was  at  the 
very  Mexican  town  of  San  Jose".  On  the  suggestion 
of  the  village  editor,  Kingston  hired  an  orchestra  to 
play  in  the  outer  balcony  of  the  "Opera  House"  and 
built  a  big  bonfire  in  the  street  before  it.  This,  it 
seems,  was  the  customary  way  of  calling  the  citizens 
to  that  place  of  entertainment.  These  brought  to 
gether  a  very  scant  audience.  Artemus  was  disgusted 

[132] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

and  dismayed.  He  had  been  idling  in  the  express- 
office,  awaiting  the  opening  hour,  but  could  perceive 
no  popular  movement  toward  the  theater. 

"Confound  that  band!"  he  exclaimed  to  Kingston. 
"The  whole  thing  is  ridiculous.  What  do  you  want 
with  a  band  at  a  comic  lecture?" 

The  local  custom  was  explained  reassuringly;  also, 
that  the  crowd  would  not  go  inside  as  long  as  the  band 
remained  outside.  The  musicians  were  accordingly 
sent  within.  Kingston  then  apprised  his  principal 
that  the  audience  awaited  his  presence. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  artist  of  the  drum?" 
he  demanded. 

Kingston  replied  that  the  drummer  was  bravely 
beating  the  sheepskin  in  the  house. 

"But  I  am  not  the  Colleen  Bawn  nor  Richard  the 
Third,"  Artemus  remonstrated,  wrathfully.  "  What  do 
I  want  with  an  orchestra?  What  will  the  people  ex 
pect?  Do  stop  them  before  I  go  in,  or  these  musical 
idiots  will  start  up  'See,  the  Conquering  Hero'  or  some 
other  nonsense,  and  turn  out  that  drummer — he's 
abominable." 

The  drummer,  be  it  said,  had  already  knocked  him 
self  out.  He  had  forgotten  his  whisky-bottle  and, 
starting  to  regain  it  from  the  balcony,  had  fallen  down 
the  stairs  and  was  badly  damaged.  The  crowd 
laughed  at  the  lecture,  but  plainly  expected  waxworks. 

Pausing  after  the  talk  to  admire  some  Mexican  sad 
dles  in  a  shop,  Artemus  Ward  tried  to  talk  Spanish 
to  a  very  lively  young  lady  at  the  door  of  the  establish 
ment  and  narrowly  escaped  pistoling  at  the  hands  of  a 
jealous  admirer  overloaded  with  mescal.  With  great 

[133] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

presence  of  mind,  he  blew  out  the  light  in  the  saddlery, 
and  the  crack  of  the  pistol  that  followed  only  heralded 
a  shot  astray. 

"  Comic  lecturing  has  nothing  to  do  with  saddlery," 
observed  Artemus,  coolly,  as  they  made  a  quick  get 
away.  "Old  fellow,  just  keep  your  comic  lecturer  to 
his  business,  or  you'll  lose  him.  That  Mexican  wanted 
to  saddle  the  wrong  horse." 

Santa  Clara  extended  an  invitation  to  the  show. 
"We  are  all  warm-hearted  people  in  Santa  Clara," 
said  the  citizen  who  brought  the  request. 

"Warm  hearts  always  want  free  tickets,"  Artemus 
commented.  "I  once  lectured  at  a  place  in  Connect 
icut  where  a  whole-souled  manufacturer  of  sewing- 
machines  asked  me  if  I  didn't  feel  a  great  wish  to  be 
introduced  to  his  family.  I  told  him  my  inclinations 
were  that  way.  People  said  he  was  the  warmest- 
hearted  man  in  the  whole  place.  In  the  evening  he 
brought  himself,  his  wife,  and  sixteen  nephews  and 
nieces.  He  introduced  them  all,  and  they  said  they 
would  just  take  seats  and  listen.  They  filled  all  my 
front  chairs.  Next  day  I  sent  for  the  admission  money. 
Answer  came  back  that  a  mistake  was  made.  They 
were  all  Mr.  Ward's  friends  and  couldn't  think  of 
paying.  But  their  hearts  were  as  warm  to  me  as  ever 
—bless  them!" 

On  reaching  Santa  Clara,  it  was  found  that  the 
sponsor  for  its  warm-heartedness  had  made  no  arrange 
ments  for  the  show.  He  said  he  was  then  on  his  way 
to  the  Jesuit  College  in  the  hope  that  its  priestly 
principal  would  provide  room  and  audience.  He  had 
given  the  prelate  a  copy  of  His  Book  and  expected  that 

[1341 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

would  fix  it.  It  did!  The  pair  went  along  and  found 
a  portly  father  with  a  copy  of  the  immortal  work  in 
his  hand  and  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face. 

"Do  you  propose  to  lecture  on  a  philosophical  sub 
ject?"  he  inquired. 

"No — history,"  replied  Artemus  Ward.  The  good 
father  said  he  had  examined  the  book,  but  its  purpose 
was  not  clear.  It  did  not  appear  to  be  historical. 
What  department  of  history  did  Mr.  Ward  propose 
to  illuminate?  "Early  history,"  he  answered:  "'The 
Babes  in  the  Wood.'" 

"Do  you  mean  Romulus  and  Remus?" 

"No,  little  Billy  Smith  and  his  sister.  It's  a  fairy 
tale  of  the  ancient  Greeks  in  New  England.  Your 
college  would  like  it,  I  am  sure.  All  colleges  do. 
Students  howl  over  it." 

The  principal  concluded  the  topic  was  not  suited  for 
his  classes,  so  the  party  hunted  for  another  hole.  A 
dilapidated  Methodist  chapel  was  induced  to  open  its 
doors.  Handbills  were  hastily  distributed.  When 
the  hour  came  only  eight  persons  appeared  at  its  doors, 
and  but  three  of  these  put  up  their  dollars.  The  other 
five  were  "warm-hearted"  deadheads.  The  hall  was 
illuminated  by  tallow  candles.  These  were  blown  out 
and  the  three  dollars  returned.  A  sympathetic  store 
keeper  invited  the  company  across  to  his  shop  for  a 
drink.  It  turned  out  that  Santa  Clara  was  suffering 
for  the  evening  from  an  epidemic  of  "  surprise  "- 
parties,  a  group  from  one  of  which,  including  some  very 
agreeable  young  ladies,  invaded  the  store.  Soon  the 
situation  was  made  plain.  More  people  came  in  and 
at  last  an  impromptu  entertainment  resulted,  Artemus 

[135] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

holding  lorth  joyously  from  a  perch  on  the  counter  by 
the  light  of  a  candle  stuck  on  the  head  of  a  flour- 
barrel.  The  young  folks  were  from  New  York,  and 
nothing  would  do  but  to  take  Artemus  Ward  along  to 
the  next  "surprise."  Not  to  be  outdone,  he  bought  a 
half-dozen  bottles  of  olives  and  carried  them  to  the 
unsuspecting  hosts — a  newly  married  couple. 

"I  shall  present  them  with  these  jars  of  olives,"  he 
said,  "and  a  pot  of  honey.  The  honey  they  can  eat, 
and  keep  the  olives  to  grow  and  have  branches." 

It  was  daylight  before  the  fun  ended.  He  was  used 
up  and  very  dull  on  the  ride  to  'Frisco.  Kingston,  who 
had  better  powers  of  endurance,  remarked  that  he  did 
not  look  like  a  humorist. 

"No.  I  am  a  headachist,"  was  the  mournful 
rejoinder. 

These  and  other  lecture  excursions  radiated  out  from 
San  Francisco,  where  Artemus  Ward  found  life  very 
delightful.  There  was  much  going  on  and  plenty  of 
people  to  make  things  interesting.  He  pined  for  com 
panionship  and  contact  with  the  odd.  San  Francisco 
supplied  both  desires  abundantly.  Among  other  things, 
in  conjunction  with  Samuel  W.  Wilder,  one  of  his  for 
mer  Boston  employers,  now  adventuring  in  California, 
Artemus  and  Kingston  gave  a  new  start  to  a  wander 
ing  conjurer  who  turned  up  broke  in  'Frisco,  after  many 
amazing  adventures  in  the  Orient — at  least,  the  tales 
he  told  of  them  were  amazing. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Artemus  to  Kingston.  "He 
has  that  sweet  respect  for  truth  which  noble  con 
jurers  have.  If  he  can  force  a  card  as  well  as  he  can 
lie,  he's  a  lovely  artist." 

[136] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

He  himself  prepared  the  program  for  the  magician. 
It  paraded  the  performer  as  the  "Renowned  Basili- 
conthaumaturgist,"  and  gave  a  burlesque  list  of  Far 
Eastern  notabilities  before  whom  he  had  appeared,  in 
cluding  the  Selectmen  of  Waterford,  Maine.  The 
boost  given  the  conjurer  brought  him  moderate  pros 
perity.  He  repaid  his  helpful  friends  by  blanketing 
the  show  in  the  country  towns  with  such  persistency 
and  bad  effect  that  Artemus  finally  overhauled  him 
and  stopped  the  practice  by  remarking,  firmly: 

"Professor,  two  basiliconthaumaturgists  cannot  get 
on  together  in  one  town.  If  you  don't  keep  off  my 
track  I  shall  turn  blood-red  wristist  myself  and  do  it 
in  my  lecture." 

This  last  remark  related  to  the  conjurer's  trick  of 
making  letters  in  blood  appear  on  his  bared  arm— 
an  old  dodge  with  the  spiritualist  mediums,  then  much 
in  vogue.  The  threat  settled  the  opposition  and  the 
natives  were  thereafter  treated  to  one  show  at  a  time. 
He  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  and,  reaching 
Salt  Lake,  became  magician  in  ordinary  to  Brigham 
Young. 

The  show  finally  moved  to  Sacramento  en  route  for 
the  Sierras,  going  by  the  steamer  Chrysopolis  to  the 
capital  of  California.  A  joke  of  the  trip  was  the  mis 
adventure  of  a  temperance  lecturer  who  made  their 
acquaintance  en  route.  The  "dry"  advocate  fell 
overboard.  It  was  late  in  the  fall — indeed,  early 
winter — and  the  water  chilled  him  to  the  bone.  His 
first  words  when  fished  out  were: 

"Whisky — get  me  some  whisky!" 

He  was  given  a  bottle  and  took  a  hearty  nip. 

[137] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"There'll  be  a  third  conversion — sure,"  remarked 
Art  emus  to  Kingston. 

He  was  warmly  received  in  Sacramento,  lectured  at 
the  Metropolitan  Theater  to  a  six  -  hundred  -  dollar 
house,  and  gave  five  hundred  dollars  of  it  the  following 
day  to  the  widow  of  an  actor  whose  home  had  been 
destroyed  by  fire,  for  whom  a  local  subscription  was 
being  raised. 

"Don't  put  my  name  on  the  list,"  he  told  Kingston. 
"Let  them  say,  'Subscribed  by  a  religious  Indian."1 

The  mining-towns  were  next  invaded.  Folsom  was 
the  first  of  these.  Kingston  went  ahead  to  fix  dates 
and  hang  out  the  handbills.  He  did  not  see  Artemus 
Ward  until  some  days  after  his  Folsom  debut. 

"The  maniacs  stopped  me  when  I  was  orating  sub 
limely,"  Artemus  told  the  doctor,  "and  called  upon 
me  to  sing.  They  howled  for  a  song." 

"Did  you  sing?" 

"I  had  to,  or  they  would  have  thrown  cart-wheels 
at  me." 

Knowing  that  Artemus  was  a  poor  warbler,  Kingston 
asked  him  what  song  he  selected. 

"The  cheerful  lunatics  wanted  'Maggie  by  My  Side.' 
They  pitched  the  tune,  and  I  joined  in  with  them.  It 
was  a  farce,  altogether.  Put  at  the  bottom  of  the  bills, 
'No  singing  allowed' — that's  a  good  fellow,  or  I  shall 
have  to  be  a  walking  opera-house  before  I  get  through 
many  more  mining-camps." 

Marysville  and  Oroville  were  next  uplifted.  At 
the  former  point  a  decision  was  reached  that  settled 
the  question  of  returning  overland  definitely.  The 
impending  winter  was  strong  argument  in  favor  of 

[138] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

an  easy  return  by  sea.  Artemus  took  a  twenty- 
dollar  gold  piece  out  of  his  pocket.  "We'll  toss  for 
it,"  he  said.  "If  it  comes  down  eagle  we'll  go  to 
the  Mormons." 

The  bird  showed  when  the  coin  came  down.  They 
therefore  routed  a  tour  through  the  mining-camps  via 
North  San  Juan,  crossing  the  Yuba  to  Shelby  Flat, 
where  Mr.  Ward  met  the  famous  Mr.  Blazes,  who 
appears  in  the  Travels.  Nevada  City,  Grass  Valley, 
Placerville,  Auburn,  Drytown,  Jackson,  and  Sonora 
furnished  welcoming  audiences.  At  Nevada  City  the 
theater  and  hotel  had  been  consumed  by  a  fire  that 
swept  the  town.  The  Baptist  church  sheltered  the 
show,  after  being  emptied  of  a  stock  of  apples  kept  in 
store.  At  Grass  Valley  Kingston  found  the  house 
where  Lola  Montez  had  finished  her  burning  career, 
to  the  ruin  of  the  lucky  miner  whose  "stake"  she  soon 
cleaned  out.  He  killed  himself,  and  the  woman  had 
returned  to  New  York  to  die  in  poverty  and  distress: 
she  who  had  consorted  with  a  king  and  had  been  the 
toast  of  the  gayest  circles  of  Europe! 

Most  of  the  time  Artemus  traveled  alone,  following 
Kingston,  whose  work  was  always  ahead,  though  they 
met  at  short  intervals  to  exchange  notes  and  arrange 
schedules.  The  showman  picked  up  the  material  for 
his  classic  account  of  "Horace  Greeley's  Ride  to 
Placerville,"  with  Hank  Monk's  sententious  order, 
"Git  him  there  by  seving" — a  tale  that  annoyed  Mr. 
Greeley  very  much,  but  which  still  refuses  to  die; 
also,  the  apothegm  of  the  stage-driver  who  gloomily 
remarked  that  at  the  "next  tip-over"  he  intended  to 
go  around  and  finish  the  mutilated  passengers  who  sur- 

[139] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

vived  with  the  king-bolt.  "Dead  folks  don't  sue. 
They  ain't  on  it." 

At  San  Juan  Kingston  interviewed  Judge  Stidger, 
editor  of  the  Press,  and  received  assurances  that  the 
show  would  receive  a  good  reception.  When  the  pair 
reunited  at  Auburn,  Kingston  found  that  the  brick 
church  at  Oroville  had  been  crowded.  The  result  at 
San  Juan  had  been  different.  Replying  to  Kingston's 
query,  Artemus  said,  reluctantly: 

"They  had  no  lecture  out  of  me." 

"But  why  not?  I  paid  fifteen  dollars  for  the  hall, 
and  Judge  Stidger  was  to  write  you  up  well  in  his 
paper." 

"  Write  me  up?  I  should  think  he  did !  He  told  the 
noble  inhabitants  that  I  was  coming  with  a  whole 
menagerie  of  snakes  and  animals.,  and  a  half  a  dozen 
wagon-loads  of  wax  figures.  When  I  got  into  the  town 
and  found  what  the  people  had  been  led  to  expect,  I 
left  by  the  next  stage.  Do  you  think  I  would  have 
stopped?  Why,  I  should  have  been  steamboated  first 
and  lynched  afterward." 

"And  the  burned-out  city,  Nevada — did  that  pay?" 

"Here's  the  money-taker's  return.  It's  just  half 
what  I  received.  The  people  opened  the  windows  and 
sat  on  the  sills,  while  others  stood  in  rows  around  the 
church.  When  I  came  out  they  all  waited  to  see  me, 
and  paid  up  their  dollars  for  standing-room.  I  like 
churches  to  lecture  in,  but  if  you  take  another  one  for 
me,  set  some  footlights  to  the  pulpit." 

At  Jackson  there  was  trouble  in  leasing  the  hall. 
A  friendly  sheriff  offered  the  use  of  a  brand-new  jail. 
"Let  your  comic  man  make  his  speech  here,"  he  said, 

[140] 


ARTEMUS    WARD    THE    LECTURER 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

genially.  "You  can  have  the  place  for  nothing.  He 
can  stand  up  on  a  table  in  the  middle,  we'll  place  forms 
for  the  people,  and  there's  the  place  for  your  boxes." 

The  "boxes"  were  cells  designed  to  accommodate 
murderers,  none  of  whom  had  yet  arrived! 

Finally,  California  was  covered,  and  after  a  brief 
return  to  San  Francisco  a  direct  departure  was  taken 
for  Nevada.  Kingston,  as  usual,  went  ahead.  The 
first  show  in  the  silver  territory  was  given  to  a  rough 
crowd  in  Carson,  which  filled  the  Johnny  Moore 
Theater.  This  was  a  rude  playhouse  with  saloon  and 
gambling-house  attachment.  Kingston  credits  its 
ownership  to  one  "Doc"  Schermerhorn,  an  exile  from 
Baltimore.  This  is  an  error.  "Schermerhorn"  was  a 
local  celebrity  who  made  the  theater  and  its  annex  his 
lounging-place.  His  real  name  was  Charles  S.  Lightle 
and  he  enjoyed  a  local  reputation  as  a  wit.  The  au 
dience  was  unappreciative.  Artemus  did  not  relish  the 
experience  and  hastened  on  to  Virginia  City.  Here  the 
brightness  of  life  again  asserted  itself.  Thomas  Ma- 
guire's  comfortable  opera-house  sheltered  the  show 
and  a  nine-hundred-dollar  audience,  taken  at  dollars 
and  half-dollars.  But,  more  to  his  delight,  the  holiday- 
time  fell  here,  where  he  found  a  coterie  of  affinities. 
There  were  then  twelve  thousand  people  in  Virginia 
City,  with  three  daily  newspapers.  One  of  these,  the 
Virginia  City  Enterprise,  had  for  its  proprietor  a  man 
of  talent  and  taste  much  above  the  merits  of  a  mining- 
camp,  Joseph  T.  Goodman.  He  had  picked  the  paper 
up  for  one  thousand  dollars  in  promises,  and  the  coming 
of  the  Comstock  boom  made  it  a  prosperous  publication, 
employing  five  editors,  twenty-three  printers,  and 

[141] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

earning  money  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  He  extended  open  house  to  the  geniuses 
that  blew  in  on  the  breeze  of  the  Big  Bonanza,  and  the 
galaxy  included  Stephen  Gillis,  Denis  McCarthy, 
William  Wright  (better  known  as  "Dan  De  Quille") 
and  Samuel  L.  Clemens,  then  twenty-eight,  a  gaunt 
young  adventurer,  who  had  followed  his  brother  Orion 
from  Missouri  to  share  the  pickings  of  the  office  of 
Secretary  to  the  territorial  government  of  Nevada. 
James  W.  Nye  was  the  Governor — afterward  to  be 
known  as  the  famous  "Bill  Nye"  of  "The  Heathen 
Chinee,"  then  a  sociable  soul.  With  this  company 
Artemus  came  at  once  into  joyous  contact.  It  is  dif 
ficult  to  discover  any  coherent  account  of  the  stay. 
Kingston  armed  himself  with  a  stout  cane  and,  with 
a  bottle  of  champagne  for  a  companion,  explored  the 
hills.  Artemus  visited  the  mines  and  loafed  with 
Mark  Twain  by  day  and  at  night  held  festivals  with 
all  hands.  He  had  intended  to  stay  but  three  days, 
but  dallied  as  many  weeks.  There  is  a  flash  in  Mark 
Twain's  recollections  of  Artemus  with  blackened  face, 
standing  on  a  table  at  the  Melodeon,  a  popular  twenty- 
four-hour  resort,  reciting  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich's 
"Ballad  of  Baby  Bell"  to  the  admiring  sinners  with 
tearful  results,  concerning  which  Twain  wrote  in  after- 
years  to  Mr.  Aldrich:  "Just  at  this  moment  [January 
27,  1872]  a  picture  flits  before  me.  Scene:  Private 
room  in  Barnum's  restaurant,  Virginia,  Nevada; 
present,  Artemus  Ward,  Joseph  T.  Goodman  (editor 
and  proprietor  Daily  Enterprise),  and  Dan  De  Quille 
and  myself,  reporters  for  the  same;  remnants  of  the 
feast,  thin  and  scathing,  but  such  tautology  and  repeti- 

[142] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,   AND   UTAH 

tion  of  empty  bottles  everywhere  visible  to  be  offensive 
to  the  sensitive  eye;  time,  2.30  A.M.  Artemus  thickly 
reciting  a  poem  about  a  certain  infant  you  wot  of,  and 
interrupting  himself  and  being  interrupted  every  few 
lines  by  poundings  of  the  table  and  shouts  of,  *  Splendid, 
by  Shorzhe !'  Finally,  a  long,  vociferous,  poundif erous 
an J  vitreous  jingling  of  applause  announces  the  con 
clusion,  and  then  Artemus:  'Let  every  man  'at  loves 
his  fellow-man  and  'predates  a  poet,  'at  loves  his 
fellow-man,  stan'  up — stan'  up  and  drink  health  and 
long  life  to  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich — and  drink  it 
stan 'ing!'  (On  all  hands  fervent,  enthusiastic,  and 
sincerely  honest  attempt  to  comply.)  Then  Artemus: 
'Well,  consider  it  stan 'ing,  and  drink  it  just  as  ye  are!' 
Which  was  done." 

In  a  pocket  of  an  Artemus  Ward  note-book  I  found 
an  interesting  relic  of  this  gladsome  sojourn  in  the 
Bonanza  regions,  a  filled-out  form  under  the  seal 
of  James  W.  Nye,  Governor,  whereby,  "reposing  spe 
cial  trust  and  confidence  in  the  integrity  and  ability 
of  Artemus  Ward,"  he  appointed  the  said  Ward  "for 
the  term  of  his  natural  life"  "Speaker  of  pieces"  to  the 
people  of  Nevada  Territory.  Orion  Clemens  had  re 
tired  from  the  post  and  the  certificate  is  signed  by 
William  King,  then  Secretary  of  the  Territory. 

He  received  another  and  more  definite  token  of 
esteem.  The  admiring  miners  sent  him  a  chain  of 
gold  so  long  that  it  could  be  worn  about  the  neck, 
but  its  weight  was  so  great  that  it  was  uncomfortable 
and  was  seldom  carried  by  its  owner.  One  of  the 
bacchanalian  banquets  cost  him  two  hundred  and 
thirty-seven  dollars!  He  seems  to  have  escaped  from 

11  [143] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

his  admirers  by  flight,  and  was  next  heard  from  at 
Austin,  through  this  letter  to  Mark  Twain: 

"AUSTIN,  Jan.  1,  '64. 
"My  DEAREST  LOVE: 

"I  arrived  here  yesterday  A.M.  at  two  o'clock.  It 
is  a  wild,  untenable  place,  full  of  lion-hearted  boys.  I 
speak  to-night.  See  small  bills. 

"Why  did  you  not  go  with  me  and  save  me  that 
night — I  mean  the  night  I  left  you  after  the  dinner 
party.  I  went  and  got  drunker,  beating,  I  may  say, 
Alexander  the  Great  in  his  most  drunkenest  days,  and 
I  blackened  my  face  at  the  Melodeonard  and  made  a 
gibbering,  idiotic  speech.  ...  I  suppose  the  Union 
will  have  it.  But  let  it  go.  I  shall  always  remember 
Virginia  as  a  bright  spot  in  my  existence,  as  all  others 
must,  or  rather,  cannot  be,  as  it  were. 

"Love  to  Jo  Goodman  and  Dan.  I  shall  write  soon, 
a  powerful,  convincing  note  to  my  friends  of  the 
Mercury.  Your  notice,  by  the  way,  did  much  good 
here,  as  it  doubtless  will  elsewhere.  The  miscreants  of 
the  Union  will  be  batted  on  the  snout  if  they  ever  dare 
pollute  this  rapidly  rising  city  with  their  loathsome 
presence. 

"Some  of  the  finest  intellects  in  the  world  have  been 
flouted  by  liquor. 

"Do  not,  sir,  do  not  flatter  yourself  that  you  are 
the  only  chastely  humorous  writer  onto  the  Pacific 
slopes. 

"Good-by,  old  boy,  and  God  bless  you!  The  matter 
of  which  I  spoke  to  you  so  earnestly  shall  be  just  as 
earnestly  attended  to,  and  again  with  my  warm  regards 

[144] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

to  Jo  and  Dan,  and  regards  to  the  many  good  friends 
we  met,  I  am  faithfully  yours, 

ARTEMUS  WARD." 

The  fact  that  Artemus  had  been  captured  by  the 
staff  of  the  Enterprise  led  to  much  hostility  on  the  part 
of  their  strenuous  brothers  of  the  Union,  the  rival 
journal  of  Virginia  City.  Hence  the  allusion.  Of  the 
editor  of  the  Union  Artemus  gave  this  account  in  his 
Travels: 

"My  arrival  in  Virginia  City  was  signalized  by  the 
following  incident:  I  had  no  sooner  achieved  my  room 
in  the  garret  of  the  International  Hotel  than  I  was 
called  upon  by  an  intoxicated  man  who  said  he  was  an 
editor.  Knowing  how  rare  it  was  for  an  editor  to  be 
under  the  blighting  influence  of  either  spirituous  or 
malt  liquors,  I  received  this  statement  doubtfully. 
But  I  said: 

"'What  name?' 

"'Wait!'  he  said.     And  went  out. 

"I  heard  him  pacing  unsteadily  up  and  down  the 
hall  outside.     In  ten  minutes  he  returned  and  said: 
''Pepper!' 

"Pepper  was  indeed  his  name.  He  had  been  out  to 
see  if  he  could  remember  it  and  he  was  so  flushed  with 
his  success  that  he  repeated  it  joyously  several  times, 
and  then,  with  a  short  laugh,  he  went  away. 

"I  had  often  heard  of  a  man  being  'so  drunk  that 
he  didn't  know  what  town  he  lived  in,'  but  here  was  a 
man  so  hideously  intoxicated  that  he  didn't  know  what 
his  name  was. 

"I  saw  him  no  more,  but  I  heard  from  him.     For  he 

[145] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

published  a  notice  of  my  lecture,  in  which  he  said  I 
had  'a  dissipated  air.'" 

Writing  to  Bret  Harte  in  San  Francisco  from  Salt 
Lake  City,  January  26,  1864,  Artemus  gave  these 
glimpses  of  his  inner  feelings  respecting  the  Union: 

"Thanks  for  the  kindly  manner  in  which  you  spoke 
of  me  in  the  Era.  There  seemed  to  be  an  unhappy 
impression  among  the  editors  in  the  interior  that  I 
was  a  highway  robber,  and  they  pursued  me  with  un 
pleasant  energy.  But  the  respectable  papers  all  treated 
me  kindly  except  the  Bulletin,  which  is  a  good  paper, 
its  chief  weakness  being  that  it  mistakes  itself  for  the 
New  York  Evening  Post.  My  march  through  Nevada 
Territory  was  in  the  main  a  triumphant  one.  The 
Virginia  Union,  however,  abused  me  in  a  long  editorial 
in  which  it  was  said  I  was  a  mercenary  clown." 

The  item  in  the  Golden  Era  of  December  27,  1863, 
to  give  the  paper's  full  title,  for  which  he  thanks  Bret 
Harte,  follows: 

"Artemus  Ward  is  not  the  greatest  American  humor 
ist,  nor  does  he  himself  profess  to  be,  but  he  deserves 
the  credit  of  combining  qualities  which  make  him  the 
representative  of  a  kind  of  humor  that  has  more 
of  a  national  characteristic  than  the  higher  and  more 
artistic  standard.  His  strength  does  not  lie  simply  in 
grotesque  spelling — that  is  a  mechanical  trick  sug 
gested  by  his  education  as  a  printer — and  those  who 
have  gone  to  hear  him  in  this  expectation  have  been 
properly  punished — but  it  is  the  humor  of  audacious 
exaggeration — of  perfect  lawlessness;  a  humor  that 
belongs  to  the  country  of  boundless  prairies,  limitless 
rivers,  and  stupendous  cataracts.  In  this  respect  Mr. 

[146] 


CALIFORNIA,  NEVADA,  AND  UTAH 

Ward  is  the  American  humorist  par  excellence,  and 
His  Book  is  the  essence  of  that  fun  which  overlies  the 
surface  of  our  national  life,  which  is  met  in  the  stage, 
rail-car,  canal-  and  flat-boat,  which  bursts  out  over 
camp-fires  and  around  barroom  stoves — a  humor  that 
has  more  or  less  local  coloring,  that  takes  kindly  to, 
and  half  elevates,  slang,  that  is  of  to-day  and  full  of 
present  application." 

The  Mercury,  to  which  A.  W.  referred  in  his  note  to 
Clemens,  was  the  famous  New  York  Sunday  newspaper 
of  that  name.  Artemus  evidently  kept  his  promise. 
Several  articles  were  sent  and  published.  Vows  made 
at  their  parting  included  promises  from  "Charley"  to 
"Sam"  to  help  him  reach  the  light.  Eventually  he 
did  it.  Calling  on  Clemens  for  a  Western  skit  to  insert 
in  his  Travels,  the  latter  forwarded  that  key-note  to 
his  fame,  "The  Celebrated  Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras 
County."  When  the  yarn  reached  New  York  the 
Travels  had  gone  to  press,  and  George  W.  Carleton,  the 
publisher,  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  disarrange 
the  make-up.  He  therefore  handed  the  MS.  over  to 
Henry  Clapp,  editor  of  the  Saturday  Press,  with  the 
remark: 

"Here,  Clapp,  here's  something  you  can  use." 

The  story  appeared  in  the  issue  of  November  18, 
1865,  and  the  world  had  its  first  real  laugh  with  "Mark 
Twain/' 

When  the  success  of  The  Innocents  Abroad  had  steered 
him  to  the  lecture  platform,  Mr.  Clemens  concocted 
a  monologue  on  "Artemus  Ward."  Writing  to  James 
Redpath,  his  manager,  from  Washington,  on  October 
28,  1871,  he  says  of  this  effort:  "Dear  Red,— I  have 

[147] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

come  square  out,  thrown  'Reminiscences'  overboard, 
and  taken  'Artemus  Ward,  Humorist/  for  my  subject. 
Wrote  it  here  on  Friday  and  Saturday,  and  read  it 
from  MS.  last  night  to  an  enormous  house.  It  suits 
me  and  I'll  never  deliver  the  nasty,  nauseous  *  Remi 
niscences'  any  more." 

This  last  was  a  reference  to  the  title  of  the  talk  he 
had  been  giving.  In  full,  it  was  "Reminiscences  of 
Some  Uncommonplace  Characters  That  I  Have 
Chanced  to  Meet."  He  was  announced  to  give  this  in 
the  Franklin  Course,  at  Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn, 
on  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  November  21,  1871,  but 
on  the  day  of  the  lecture  the  advertisement  in  the 
Eagle  was  altered  to  read,  "Artemus  Ward,  the  Hu 
morist."  The  Eagle  gave  no  report;  the  World  published 
a  friendly  notice  of  Twain  as  a  lecturer,  but  gave  no 
word  of  the  talk.  A  fragment  of  it  is  given  in  Frederick 
Hudson's  History  of  Journalism  in  the  United  States, 
as  follows: 

"Artemus  Ward's  real  name,  as  most  of  you  are 
probably  aware,  was  Charles  F.  Browne.  He  was  born 
in  Waterford,  Maine,  in  1834.  His  personal  appear 
ance  was  not  like  that  of  most  Maine  men.  He  looked 
like  a  glove-stretcher;  his  hair,  red,  and  brushed  well 
forward  at  the  sides,  reminded  one  of  a  divided  flame. 
His  nose  rambled  on  aggressively  before  him  with  all 
the  strength  and  determination  of  a  cow-catcher,  while 
his  red  mustache,  to  follow  out  the  simile,  seemed  not 
unlike  the  unfortunate  cow. 

"Ward  never  had  any  regular  schooling;  he  was  too 
poor  to  afford  it,  for  one  thing,  and  too  lazy  to  care  for 
it,  for  another.  He  had  an  intense,  ingrained  dislike 

[148] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

for  work  of  any  kind;  he  even  objected  to  see  other 
people  work,  and  on  one  occasion  went  so  far  as  to 
submit  to  the  authorities  of  a  certain  town  an  invention 
to  run  a  treadmill  by  steam.  Such  a  notion  could  not 
have  originated  with  a  hard-hearted  man.  Ward  was 
a  dutiful  son,  and  his  first  act,  when  money  began  to 
come  in  on  him  from  his  lectures,  was  to  free  from  in- 
cumbrance  the  old  homestead  in  his  native  town  and 
settle  it  upon  his  aged  mother. 

"His  first  literary  venture  was  type-setting  in  the 
office  of  the  old  Boston  Carpet-Bagger,  and  for  that 
paper  he  wrote  his  first  squib.  He  tried  every  branch 
of  writing,  even  going  so  far  as  to  send  to  the  Smith 
sonian  Institute — at  least,  so  he  himself  said — an  essay 
entitled,  'Is  Cats  to  Be  Trusted?'  He  soon  tired  of 
settled  life  and  poor  pay  in  Boston,  and  wandered  off 
over  the  country  to  better  his  fortune,  obtaining  a  posi 
tion  in  Cleveland  as  a  reporter  at  twelve  dollars  per 
week.  It  was  while  in  Cleveland  that  he  wrote  his 
first  badly  spelled  article,  signing  it  'Artemus  Ward.' 
He  did  not  think  much  of  it  at  the  time  of  writing  it, 
but  it  gave  him  a  start  that  speedily  sent  him  to  the 
top  of  the  ladder  without  touching  a  single  rung. 

"He  soon  left  Cleveland,  and,  going  to  New  York, 
assumed  the  editorship  of  Vanity  Fair.  Settled  em 
ployment,  however,  did  not  suit  him,  and  he  soon 
started  out  on  his  first  lecture  tour.  The  success  of 
this  new  employment,  although  not  great  at  first,  soon 
exceeded  his  most  sanguine  expectations,  and  he 
adopted  it  as  a  permanent  profession.  When  he  went 
to  England  his  reception  was  of  the  nature  of  an  ova 
tion.  It  is  said  that  for  each  of  his  articles  contributed 

[149] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

to  Punch  he  received  six  hundred  dollars.  His  pano 
ramic  exhibitions  in  Egyptian  Hall  were  a  grand  suc 
cess,  drawing,  night  after  night,  immense  crowds  to 
witness  them. 

"The  English  climate  of  cold  and  fog  seemed  to 
have  the  effect  of  eating  away  his  life,  and,  although  he 
struggled  hard,  he  had  to  relinquish  his  avocation. 
When  he  knew  that  he  must  die,  his  only  desire  was 
to  get  home,  but  this  was  denied  him.  He  got  as  far 
as  Southampton,  but  his  physician  peremptorily  for 
bade  his  attempting  the  sea  voyage,  and  at  Southamp 
ton,  in  the  thirty -fourth  year  of  his  age,  he  died." 

Despite  his  enthusiasm  for  the  topic,  Twain  used  it 
but  eleven  times,  reverting  to  selections  from  Roughing 
It  as  an  entertainment.  The  excerpt  given  above  seems 
ill-natured,  as  indeed  are  most  of  his  references  to  his 
first  mentor,  smacking  somewhat  of  envy.  Just  why 
he  should  have  expressed  himself  slightingly  toward  the 
friend  who  embraced  him  so  unaffectedly  and  to  whom 
he  owed  his  first  sunrise  in  the  East  is  hard  to  explain. 
The  errors  of  statement  are  left  uncorrected. 

Artemus  found  Austin  to  be  a  one-year-old  mining- 
camp  with  a  court-house  and  a  daily  newspaper,  the 
Reveille.  His  fame  had  gone  before  and  he  was  heartily 
greeted  by  many  adventurous  souls.  There  was  no 
hall  for  the  lecture,  but  choice  lay  between  the  court 
house,  which  Judge  Brownson  offered,  and  "Holbrook's 
new  granite  store."  The  store  was  selected.  The  plaster 
on  the  walls  was  still  wet  and  there  was  no  illumination. 
Artemus  led  the  way  from  the  International  Hotel  to 
the  place  of  entertainment,  carrying  a  lighted  lamp  in 
his  hand,  followed  by  most  of  the  audience  to  give 

[150] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

what  had  been  announced  in  the  Reveille  as  "The  Pio 
neer  Lecture  in  the  Shoshone  Nation,"  as  indeed  it 
was,  the  lecturer  being  the  first  platform  speaker  to 
brave  the  perils  of  the  Sierras.  Many  of  his  hearers 
brought  chairs  from  their  homes  on  which  to  sit.  The 
rest  squatted  on  benches  or  stood.  To  end  the  hilarious 
night  a  dance  was  started  that  lasted  far  toward  dawn. 

The  inhabitants  of  Big  Creek,  a  mining-camp  twelve 
miles  from  Austin,  petitioned  for  the  lecture.  Kingston 
had  armed  himself  with  a  big  revolver  against  the 
perils  of  the  plains  and  had  been  dubbed  "Warrior" 
in  consequence  by  his  companion,  who  also  bought  a 
weapon  but  prudently  kept  it  in  the  bottom  of  his 
trunk. 

"Warrior,  what  do  you  say?  Shall  we  go  to  Big 
Creek?"  queried  Artemus  when  the  request  came. 

"Why  not?"  replied  the  agent,  who  recites  the  epi 
sode  in  "Artemus  Ward  among  the  Shoshones,"  con 
tributed  to  the  Savage  Club  Papers  for  1868.  "It 
must  be  a  queer  place  to  see,  and  to  lecture  there  will 
be  something  droll  to  do.  We  will  announce  'The 
Pioneer  Lecture  in  the  Shoshone  Nation."' 

"We'll  do  it,  Warrior,"  replied  Artemus,  with  en 
thusiasm.  "Only  take  care  to  have  at  the  bottom  of 
the  bill,  'Admission,  One  Scalp;  Front  Seats,  Two 
Scalps." 

The  lecture  was  given  in  the  Young  America  saloon, 
with  the  bar  in  full  action.  One  hundred  and  fifty 
miners  paid  three  dollars  each  to  sit  on  planks  resting 
on  kegs  and  roar  approval  at  the  jokes  in  "Babes  in 
the  Wood."  The  barkeeper  assisted  in  the  applause 
by  yelling,  "Bully,  boys — bully!"  at  each  successful 

[151] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

jest,  and  whooping  a  peroration:  "That's  Artemus 
Ward  from  New  England.  Listen  to  him!  Ain't  he 
sweet?  Ain't  he  hell!" 

There  were  no  fit  lodgings  in  town  and  the  pair  drove 
back  to  Austin  in  the  buggy  by  which  they  came. 
On  the  road  they  were  waylaid  by  a  band  of  their 
rough  admirers  led  by  one  William  Albaugh,  made  up 
as  Shoshones,  who  captured  them  before  Kingston 
could  operate  his  shooting-iron  and  kept  the  pair  on 
their  knees  half  an  hour  under  silent,  menacing,  savage 
guards.  Then  one  of  the  "Shoshones,"  in  bad  English, 
asked  Artemus  his  name: 

"Artemus  Ward,"  was  the  shivering  reply.  It  was 
very  cold  and  the  scare  added  to  the  tremors. 

"Wh-r-r-r-r-a-he!  Uo!  Uo!  Uo!  Americano  talkee 
man!"  whooped  the  questioner,  joyously.  Then  he 
gave  an  imitation  of  scalp-taking  on  the  lanky  locks, 
while  the  crowd  yelled: 

"Talkee!     Talkee!" 

"My  good  Indian  friends — "  he  began,  to  be  inter 
rupted  by  a  "savage"  pushing  a  bottle  in  his  face, 
crying: 

"Whisky — devite,  devite !    Drinkee,  lecture,  talkee !" 

"Noble  Shoshones,"  he  began,  "brave  and  heroic 
warriors  of  a  mighty  race!  The  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  was  framed  by  the  great  and  glorious 
George  Washington.  He  wrote  it  out  at  tea-time  over 
a  bottle  of  bourbon  and  a  hot  corn-meal  cake.  He 
wrote  in  that  glorious  document  that  the  Shoshone 
nation  should  ever  be  respected.  He  wrote,  did  that 
great  and  good  man — " 

"Bosh!"  cried  one  of  the  Indians  in  a  tone  that 

[152] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

identified  the  jokers  at  once.  Hot  toddy  and  a  cheery 
escort  back  to  Austin  followed — also  a  warning  not  to 
be  careless  in  wild  country. 

At  the  end  of  five  hilarious  days  Artemus  and  Doctor 
Kingston  took  passage  from  Austin  on  one  of  Ben 
Holladay's  transcontinental  stages  for  Salt  Lake  City. 
He  had  misgivings  as  to  what  his  reception  might  be 
in  view  of  the  wide  publicity  given  his  "Visit  to 
Brigham  Young,"  printed  in  Vanity  Fair,  November 
10,  1860,  and  based  upon  popular  Eastern  impressions, 
in  which  he  had  described  Salt  Lake  as  a  "2nd  Sodom 
and  Gomorrer,  inhabited  by  as  theavin'  and  unprin 
cipled  a  set  of  retchis  es  ever  drew  breth  on  eny  spot 
on  the  globe." 

The  Gentiles  in  Nevada  had  been  at  great  pains  to 
warn  him  that  this  remark  might  bring  unpleasant 
consequences  in  Utah,  and  he  approached  the  borders 
of  that  territory  with  considerable  misgiving.  The 
country  was  full  of  weird  tales  of  Mormon  atrocities 
and  the  murderous  deeds  of  "Destroying  Angels." 
There  were  no  adventures  by  the  way,  beyond  an 
unjustified  Indian  scare  and  the  shooting  of  a  wolf 
who  scented  the  supplies  belonging  to  the  party.  The 
humorist  kept  his  hand  pretty  steadily  on  the  hilt  of 
his  revolver,  but  did  not  have  to  use  it,  though  he 
scared  Kingston  by  giving  imitations  of  scalping  and 
reciting  tales  of  savage  torture. 

A  glimpse  of  his  entry  into  Mormondom  is  found  in 
this  excerpt  copied  from  what  was  a  bit  of  MS.  of 
the  Travels,  evidently  excised  by  the  vigilant  Carleton, 
in  editing  the  work,  for  its  offensive  reference  to  Martin 
Harris,  who  had  been  one  of  the  earliest  of  Joseph 

[153] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Smith's  followers  at  Palmyra,  New  York,  and  who 
mortgaged  his  farm  to  pay  for  the  printing  of  the  first 
edition  of  the  Book  of  Mormon: 

"We  are  now  seven  miles  into  Utah  Territory,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  several  days  eat  a  tolerable  dinner. 
The  station  is  kept  by  a  voluble  Mormon  who  talks 
me  into  a  sweet  sleep  about  his  Faith.  I  wake  up  as 
he  is  about  closing  and  hear  him  ask,  'Was  or  was  not 
Moses  right?' 

"' Moses  who?' 

"'Moses  in  the  Bible.' 

"Mr.  Libby,  the  stage-driver,  who  is  a  scoffer,  comes 
to  my  relief  with  the  remark  that  Mose  was  all  right. 
'His  head,'  added  Mr.  Libby,  'was  round* — which  on 
the  plains  means  that  a  man's  head  is  unusually  clear. 

"At  breakfast  the  next  morning  we  met  Mr.  Walter 
Davis,  the  telegraph  operator,  and  his  young  and 
pretty  wife.  They  are  Mormons,  and  the  lady  men 
tions  that  she  came  from  Kirtland,  Ohio.  I  had 
often  been  there;  it  was  the  first  regular  'stake'  the 
Mormons  ever  established,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  knew 
a  crazy  old  rascal  there  of  the  name  of  Martin  Harris. 
"I  did,'  she  said;  'he  was  my  father!' 

"This  made  the  people  at  the  table  laugh  as  much 
as  it  did  the  children  when  Mary's  little  lamb  went  to 
school." 

Another  stop  was  at  the  home  of  Porter  Rockwell, 
known  as  chief  of  Brigham's  Destroying  Angels.  He 
was  not  at  home,  but  Mrs.  Rockwell  took  great  satis 
faction  in  showing  the  travelers  a  nine-hundred-pound 
hog.  Kingston  found  comfort  in  a  copy  of  the  London 
Times,  for  which  Rockwell  was  a  subscriber. 

[154] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

At  Salt  Lake  they  were  "put  up"  at  the  Salt  Lake 
House  and  warmly  welcomed  by  James  Townsend, 
the  landlord,  and  wife  No.  2.  Wife  No.  1  was  not  in 
evidence,  though  existing  elsewhere.  No.  2  soon  be 
came  "Townsend's  better  third"  in  A.  W.'s  vocabu 
lary.  He  argued  polygamy  with  her  to  small  purpose, 
the  lady  having  thoroughly  accepted  the  situation. 

"Why  shouldn't  a  man  be  able  to  love  two  wives?" 
she  asked. 

Artemus  replied  that  to  his  mind  the  heart  had  much 
to  do  with  love — and  he  knew  of  no  man  with  two 
hearts. 

"God  loves  all,"  was  her  naive  response.  "Man  is  a 
part  of  God,  and  when  man  belongs  to  the  Church  the 
image  of  God  is  in  him;  he  loses  his  selfishness,  becomes 
like  God,  and  can  love  many." 

Less  than  an  hour  after  they  were  located  at  the 
hotel,  Kingston  relates,  they  were  waited  upon  by  a 
bland  gentleman  wearing  a  Scotch  cap,  a  Mexican 
poncho,  and  a  New  England  "comforter,"  who  glided 
in  with  the  pussy-footed  step  of  one  accustomed  to 
going  on  delicate  errands.  He  proved  to  be  T.  B.  Sten- 
house,  a  native  of  Scotland,  once  a  reporter  for  James 
Gordon  Bennett  the  elder,  on  the  New  York  Herald, 
and  then  postmaster  of  Salt  Lake  City.  He  brought 
some  letters  for  the  humorist,  and,  what  was  more,  a 
message  of  welcome,  for,  in  addition  to  his  postal  re 
sponsibilities,  he  was  an  elder  of  the  Church  and  official 
spokesman  for  Brigham  Young.  By  skilfully  leading 
the  conversation,  Stenhouse  soon  discovered  Artemus's 
anxiety  to  ascertain  his  own  status. 

"The  president  has  your  book  in  his  library,"  he 

[155] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

said.  "He  has  all  the  books  that  have  been  written 
about  him.  You  ought  not  to  have  made  ridicule  of 
our  Church." 

Artemus  was  properly  contrite  and  explained  his 
coming  was  due  to  a  desire  to  lecture  in  the  city  and 
be  free  to  see  the  Mormons  as  they  really  were.  He 
was  assured  that  his  lecture  would  be  heard  and  that 
all  doors  would  be  open  to  him.  The  next  day  Hiram 
B.  Clawson,  son-in-law  of  the  Prophet,  called  with  a 
sleigh  to  bear  the  travelers  to  his  presence.  They  were 
driven  to  the  official  residence.  The  interview  was  brief 
but  pleasant.  Artemus  was  promised  the  use  of  the 
theater,  after  some  consideration  as  to  terms,  Brigham 
preferring  a  share  of  the  receipts  to  a  fixed  fee,  though 
he  intimated  there  might  be  no  charge,  presumably 
if  he  liked  the  show. 

All  being  thus  amicably  arranged,  preparations  for 
the  lecture  were  stopped  by  the  sudden  illness  of  the 
showman.  An  attack  of  mountain  fever  sent  him  to 
bed  in  the  hotel,  with  considerable  odds  against  his 
recovery.  The  vivid  nights  and  long  days  in  California 
and  Nevada  had  taken  heavy  toll  on  his  slender  vitality. 
Kingston  was  distracted  with  anxiety.  His  own  stock 
of  remedies  had  been  left  behind  in  Nevada  and  there 
was  no  physician  in  the  city,  beyond  a  quack  herbalist. 
The  saints  "cured"  their  ills  by  laying  on  hands.  He 
therefore  galloped  on  horseback  to  Camp  Douglas, 
where  he  found  Dr.  Jonathan  H.  Williamson,  of  the 
Second  California  Volunteer  Cavalry,  the  post  surgeon, 
who  at  once  responded  to  his  call  and  took  the  patient 
under  his  care  for  the  trying  two  weeks  the  fever  ran. 
The  good  doctor  did  not  believe  his  patient  would  re- 

[156] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

cover.  Kingston  was  warned  to  prepare  for  the  worst 
and  went  so  far  as  to  see  if  the  Overland  Stage  Com 
pany  would  transport  his  friend's  body  East.  Nat 
Stein,  the  agent,  said  this  would  be  impossible.  "The 
last  time  we  sent  on  the  body  of  one  of  our  people," 
he  explained,  "the  wolves  smelled  it  and  attacked  the 
mules.  Our  orders  are  never  to  send  on  another." 

Artemus  wrote  himself  in  the  Travels: 

"My  case  is  pronounced  dangerous.  I  don't  regard 
it  so.  In  fact,  I  don't  regard  anything.  I  am  all  right 
myself.  My  poor  Kingston  shakes  his  head  sadly, 
and  Dr.  Williamson  .  .  .  pours  all  kinds  of  bitter 
stuff  down  my  throat.  I  drink  his  health  in  the  cheerful 
beverage  known  as  jalap,  and  thresh  the  sheets  with 
my  hot  hands.  I  address  large  assemblages  who  have 
somehow  got  into  my  room,  and  I  charge  Dr.  Wil 
liamson  with  the  murder  of  Luce,  and  Mr.  Irwin,  the 
actor,  with  the  murder  of  Shakespeare.  I  have  a  lucid 
spell  now  and  then,  in  one  of  which  James  Townsend, 
the  landlord,  enters.  He  whispers,  but  I  hear  what  he 
has  to  say  far  too  distinctly:  'This  man  can  have  any 
thing  and  everything  he  wants;  but  I  am  no  hand  for 
a  sick-room.  I  never  could  see  anybody  die.": 

Mrs.  Townsend  had  no  such  fears.  She  watched  the 
patient  with  unremitting  care  and  secured  the  services 
of  Mrs.  Battershall,  an  elderly  Englishwoman,  who  was 
an  experienced  nurse.  A  Sacramento  farmer,  Jerome 
Davis,  whose  acquaintance  had  been  picked  up  on 
the  stage  from  Austin,  volunteered,  and  his  strong, 
tender  hands  came  into  play,  lifting  the  fevered  body 
of  his  friend.  The  city  was  full  of  interest  and  com 
passion.  Brigham  Young  sent  Stenhouse  daily  to  in- 

[1571 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

quire  of  the  patient.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  the  fever 
left  him,  leaving  him,  as  he  said,  "frightfully  weak" 
and  "fearfully  thin,"  so  much  so  that  he  put  Kingston's 
overcoat  on  over  his  own  when  able  to  go  out,  and  so 
"succeeded  in  making  a  shadow." 

One  of  his  first  acts  on  recovering  was  to  write  this 
letter  to  Mark  Twain  at  Virginia  City: 

"SALT  LAKE  CITY,  Jan.  21,  '64. 

"MY  DEAK  MARK: — I  have  been  dangerously  ill  for 
the  past  two  weeks  here  of  congestive  fever.  Very 
grave  fears  were  for  a  time  entertained  of  my  recovery, 
but  happily  the  malady  is  gone,  though  leaving  me 
very,  very  weak.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  resume  my 
journey  in  a  week  or  so.  I  think  I  shall  speak  in  the 
theater  here,  which  is  one  of  the  finest  establishments 
of  the  kind  in  America. 

"The  saints  have  been  wonderfully  kind  to  me.  I 
could  not  have  been  better  or  more  tenderly  nursed 
at  home.  God  bless  them  all. 

"I  am  still  exceedingly  weak — can't  write  any  more. 
Love  to  Jo  and  Dan  and  all  the  rest.  Write  me  at  St. 
Louis.  Always  yours, 

ARTEMUS  WARD." 

To  Bret  Harte,  in  San  Francisco,  he  also  expressed 
his  gratitude:  "I  was  taken  very  ill  of  fever  on  my  ar 
rival  here.  A  Mormon  woman — may  God  in  heaven 
bless  her — nursed  me  through  as  kindly  and  tenderly 
as  my  own  mother  could  have  done." 

There  were  many  callers,  including,  late  one  evening, 
a  huge,  strange-looking  personage  with  a  copper  visage, 

[158] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,    AND    UTAH 

wearing  heavy  jack-boots,  with  his  hair  plaited  and 
worn  like  that  of  an  Indian.  It  was  Porter  Rockwell, 
chief  of  the  Destroying  Angels,  whom  they  had  missed 
on  the  route.  He  sat  beside  the  bed  for  half  an  hour, 
talking  pleasantly.  When  he  departed  Artemus  told 
Kingston  who  the  visitor  was. 

"They  say  he  has  shot  eighteen  men,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  He's  a  cheerful  angel  to  call  on  a  sick  man !" 

As  he  convalesced  attentions  increased.  General 
Connor  sent  him  champagne  from  the  officers'  mess  at 
Camp  Douglas.  Brigham  Young  added  some  fine-flav 
ored  native  wine.  The  ladies  of  the  Church  contrib 
uted  fresh  eggs,  jellies,  dried  fruits,  and  other  domestic 
delicacies.  All  were  enjoyed,  but  the  food  that  lifted 
him  from  his  couch  was  found  by  Jerome  Davis  in  a 
local  grocery — a  dozen  cans  of  Baltimore  oysters — 
squares  of  block  tin  in  which  the  bivalves  then  made 
long  journeys. 

"Get  out  the  bills  for  the  lecture,"  said  Artemus, 
after  his  first  stew.  "See  Mr.  Clawson  and  arrange 
for  the  date.  The  show  is  safe  enough,  now  we've  got 
on  an  oyster  basis." 

February  8th  was  selected  as  the  date.  The  theater 
was  crowded,  but  the  receipts  were  light — four  hundred 
and  ninety  dollars.  The  price  of  admission  was  low, 
and  most  of  the  prominent  saints  were  admitted  free. 
Brigham  Young  sat  in  his  rocking-chair  and  enjoyed 
the  jokes  in  the  "Babes,"  as  did  the  more  intelligent 
part  of  the  audience,  but  Kingston  noted  many  stolid 
women  in  the  assemblage  to  whom  the  frivolity  was 
Greek.  Two  days  later,  on  the  afternoon  of  Wednes 
day,  February  10th,  accompanied  by  Doctor  Kingston, 

12  [  159  ] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Artemus  departed  by  sleigh  overland  for  the  East, 
amid  farewells  from  Mormon  and  Gentile,  by  way  of 
Denver,  Colorado. 

Despite  his  good  treatment  he  came  away  with  a 
poor  opinion  of  Brigham  Young  as  a  human  being,  but 
with  high  regard  for  his  genius  and  ability.  Exchanging 
views  afterward  with  Kingston,  the  latter  ventured 
the  suggestion  that  Mormonism  was  a  compound  of 
Swedenborgianism  and  Mohammedanism. 

"Petticoatism  and  plunder,"  was  A.  W.'s  sententious 
reply. 

At  Denver,  where  the  humorist  was  to  lecture,  this 
interesting  episode  occurred: 

After  the  attack  of  mountain  fever,  his  features  be 
came  so  attenuated  that,  to  quote  his  own  phrase,  used 
in  the  lecture  on  the  Mormons,  "my  nose  was  so  sharp 
I  didn't  dare  stick  it  into  other  people's  business  for 
fear  it  would  stay  there."  His  thin  yellow  locks  added 
to  the  sharpness  of  his  face,  and  he  sought  and  found  a 
remedy  for  his  ill  appearance.  Reaching  Denver,  he 
hunted  up  a  hardware-store  and  bought  a  pair  of 
curling-tongs.  Kingston,  met  him  coming  out  of  the 
shop  with  the  package. 

"I  want  you,  old  fellow,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  all 
round  the  city  for  them,  and  I've  got  them  at  last." 

"Got  what?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"A  pair  of  curling-tongs.  I  am  going  to  have  my 
hair  curled  to  lecture  in  to-night.  I  mean  to  cross  the 
plains  in  curls.  Come  home  with  me  and  try  to  curl 
it  for  me.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  any  idiot  of  a  barber 
to  be  laughed  at." 

Kingston  successfully  frizzled  the  lanky  locks,  and 

[160] 


CALIFORNIA,    NEVADA,   AND    UTAH 

ever  after  Artemus  Ward  wore  curls,  becoming,  as  he 
remarked,  his  own  "curlist."  In  the  Mormon  lecture 
he  would  observe  "a  Mexican  lady's  hair  never  curls — 
it  is  straight  as  an  Indian's.  Some  people's  hair  won't 
curl  under  any  circumstances.  My  hair  won't  curl 
under  two  shillings" — meaning  the  barber's  fee. 

He  was  not  alone  in  this  gentle  vanity.  Captain 
Gronow,  in  his  Anecdotes  of  the  Camp,  Court,  and  Clubs, 
relates  that  Scrope  Davies,  once  entering  Lord  Byron's 
chamber,  found  the  poet  in  bed  with  his  hair  in 
curl-papers,  and  cried  out: 

"  Ha !  Ha !  Byron,  I  have  at  last  caught  you  acting 
the  part  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty!" 

"No,  Scrope,"  was  the  reply,  "the  part  of  a  d — d 
fool,  you  should  have  said." 

"Well,  then,  anything  you  please,"  said  Davies. 
"But  you  have  succeeded  admirably  in  deceiving  your 
friends,  for  it  was  our  conviction  that  your  hair  curled 
naturally." 

"Yes,  naturally  every  night,"  replied  Byron;  "but 
do  not,  my  dear  Scrope,  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag, 
for  I  am  as  vain  of  my  curls  as  a  girl  of  sixteen." 

Leaving  Denver,  the  party  pushed  across  the  plains 
to  reach  the  outpost  of  Eastern  civilization  at  Atchison, 
Kansas,  on  a  Sunday  morning  of  the  early  spring.  The 
trip  had  been  a  success  in  every  respect.  Plans  were 
made  for  a  rapid  lecture  tour,  beginning  at  St.  Louis, 
where  a  six-hundred-dollar  house  was  gathered  to  hear 
"The  Babes  in  the  Wood"  at  the  rooms  of  the  Mercan 
tile  Library.  Alton,  Bloomington,  Peoria,  and  Chicago 
responded  nobly  to  the  call.  So  did  a  series  of  Ohio 
towns.  The  expedition  came  back  to  New  York  with 

[161] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

full  pockets  to  prepare  for  a  fresh  campaign  with 
"Artemus  Ward  among  the  Mormons." 

Some  idea  of  the  financial  success  attained,  despite 
extravagant  outlay  on  top  of  a  high  legitimate  expense, 
is  found  in  this  statement  made  by  George  W.  Carleton: 

"When  Artemus  returned  from  California  I  re 
member  that  he  came  into  my  office  and,  pulling  out  a 
long  stocking  filled  with  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces,  he 
handed  it  over  to  me.  It  contained,  I  think,  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  Artemus  put  his  money  in  bonds 
and  securities,  and  for  a  while  I  kept  them  in  my 
bank.  One  day  I  told  him  that  the  responsibility 
was  great,  and  I  would  much  prefer  his  taking  care 
of  his  own  money.  He  took  it  then,  and  deposited  it 
in  the  Pacific  Bank.  A  month  afterward  he  went  to 
England,  where  he  died.  When  his  executors  went  to 
the  bank  to  draw  his  money  they  were  confronted  with 
a  receipt.  Artemus  had  drawn  out  every  dollar  before 
he  left  for  England,  and  what  he  did  with  it  is  a  mystery 
to  this  day.  He  was  a  careless  man,  and  it  would  be 
difficult  to  tell  where  his  money  went.  I  think  he 
purchased,  or  had  purchased,  a  house  in  Yonkers 
before  he  deposited  the  money." 


VI 

THE  MORMON  LECTURE 

ENG  before  the  days  of  the  "movies"  there 
existed  a  popular  form  of  entertainment  called 
the  "Panorama,"  a  device  by  which  vistas  of  famous 
scenes  were  painted  on  long  strips  of  canvas,  wound  on 
rollers,  and  so  slowly  passed  across  a  stage.  The 
desert  journey  was  to  be  thus  depicted,  accompanied 
by  a  patter  of  humorous  talk. 

The  lecturer  selected  New  York  as  a  starting-point 
for  the  new  venture.  Much  pains  were  taken  to  get 
the  show  into  the  public  eye.  While  riding  with 
Kingston  one  day  across  the  plains  on  the  homeward 
journey,  Artemus,  after  a  long  silence,  broke  out, 
"I  think  I  ought  to  go  back  to  my  B." 

"Who  is  she?"  Kingston  asked. 

"I  mean  the  B  in  my  proper  name.  Artemus  Ward 
is  a  good  name  for  newspaper  work  and  books;  but  I 
must  go  back  to  my  old  'Charles  Browne'  to  be  a 
showman.  All  good  showmen  begin  with  a  'B.' 
There's  Barnum  and  Booth,  Burton  and  Bateman." 

"What  about  Sothern?  You  said  the  other  day 
that  you  thought  him  to  be  a  good  showman." 

"Well,  he  can't  get  on  till  he's  got  his  B.  That's 
why  he's  gone  over  to  join  Buckstone." 

"Then  make  yours  Brigham  Young!" 

The  "B  "  stuck  in  his  mind  until  the  pair  reached  New 
York,  where  almost  his  first  act  was  to  send  Kingston 

[163] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

down  to  Barnum's  Museum  at  Broadway  and  Ann 
Street  to  consult  the  great  P.  T.  on  the  merits  of  the 
proposition  and  the  best  place  to  produce. 

This  "B"  notion,  by  the  way,  was  one  of  Barnum's 
own  foibles.  It  was  known  to  the  initiated  in  the 
circus  business  that  to  have  a  name  that  began  with 
the  second  letter  of  the  alphabet  was  a  pretty  certain 
passport  to  a  job  with  the  old  man.  A  supporting 
tradition  is  that  his  most  successful  partner,  James  A. 
Bailey,  was  really  born  McGinnis,  substituting  Bailey 
as  more  certain  to  cement  their  relationship.  Mr. 
Barnum  gave  a  favorable  opinion.  Halls  were  few, 
and  finally  Dodworth's,  a  dancing-academy  annex  at 
806  Broadway,  was  selected.  It  was  small,  badly 
arranged,  and  proved  in  the  end  a  poor  choice. 

William  Wheatley,  lessee  of  Niblo's  Garden,  loaned 
the  services  of  William  Hilliard,  his  chief  scene-painter, 
and  Gus  Maeder,  while  Charles  R.  Thorne  aided  with 
advice.  A  studio  was  set  up  next  door  to  Wallack's 
Theater  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Eleventh 
Street,  where  the  Panorama  soon  took  shape.  While 
this  was  going  on  Artemus  went  to  Waterford. 

His  home-coming  was  saddened  by  the  death  of  his 
brother  Cyrus  W.  Brown,  who  died  at  the  homestead 
on  April  22,  1864,  aged  thirty-seven  years.  This 
bereavement  made  the  summer  somber  and  narrowed 
the  world  for  mother  and  son.  He  spent  the  season 
quietly  working  up  his  lecture  and  putting  his  travel 
notes  into  shape. 

Returning  to  New  York  in  the  early  fall,  the  Pano 
rama  was  set  up  in  the  hall  and  the  lecture  rehearsed. 
The  perspective  was  not  right,  and  to  improve  it  the 

[164] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

picture-frame  was  placed  across  the  corner  of  the  room. 
Artemus  brought  back  from  Waterford  a  boyhood 
friend,  Horace  Maxfield,  a  rosy-cheeked  young  man, 
son  of  the  local  stage-owner,  who  returned  home  after 
this  adventure  and  took  up  the  reins,  to  be  ticket-taker. 
James  F.  Ryder  was  summoned  from  Cleveland  to 
keep  the  lecturer  company  and  hold  his  hand,  so  to 
speak.  Copy  without  date  went  out  to  the  news 
papers,  reading: 

Artemus  Ward 

Which  his  number  is  806 

Artemus  Ward  among  the  Mormons 

Dodworth  Hall,  806  Broadway 

Just  beyond  Stewart's  up-town  store 

Opposite  Eleventh  Street 

Next  to  Grace  Church 

And  over  the  Spa. 
His  Entertainment, 
His  Pictures, 
His  Journey  and 
His  Jokes. 

The  'Spa'  was  a  famous  soda-water  dispensary  in 
the  days  before  the  fountain  was  common.  He  cleverly 
annexed  the  best-advertised  spots  in  town  as  neighbors. 
To  add  to  the  stir  twelve  Hibernians  were  hired, 
painted  and  befeathered  to  look  like  Indians,  and  each, 
carrying  an  umbrella  announcing  the  show,  solemnly 
paraded  Broadway,  reviewed  incog,  by  their  employer, 
who  was  deeply  delighted  by  the  interest  aroused. 
Occasionally  the  procession  paused  to  "whoop"  and 
do  a  few  steps  of  war-dance.  October  17,  1864,  was 
selected  as  the  opening  night.  The  house  was  well 

[165] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 


papered,  invitations  to  the  well-known  going  out  in  the 

form  of  a  ticket  admitting  "the  bearer  and  \  re  Wife." 

By  no  means  the  least  meritorious  part  of  the  show 

was    the    program.      Its    four    octavo    pages    teemed 


(9fif\       /i>/?t\       /s»/s\ 


COMPLIMENTARY. 


ARTEMUS  WARD 


Admit  the  Bearer  and  ONE  Wife. 


A    TICKET    TO    THE        SHOW 

with  wit  and  included  this  important  bit  of  personal 
statistics : 

"Traveler. — 'How  long  was  Artemus  Ward  in 
California?'  'Five  feet  ten  and  a  half.'" 

Finding  that  a  small  seating  capacity  and  low  prices 
could  not  work  out  successfully  from  a  monetary  point 
of  view,  Artemus  increased  the  charge  for  admission.  It 
was  during  war-time  and  prices  were  jumping.  The 
Broadway  stage  line  had  just  doubled  its  rate  of  fare 
from  five  to  ten  cents.  The  showman  gravely  used  the 
same  reason  for  his  hoist,  "The  increase  in  the  cost 
of  oats." 

Success  was  moderate  but  continuous.  The  hall 
when  full  could  not  hold  a  large-paying  audience  and 
had  other  drawbacks.  The  season  lasted,  however,  for 

[166] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

two  months,  then  the  show  took  to  the  road  in  New 
England,  opening  at  the  Boston  Melodeum,  on  Wash 
ington  Street,  December  26th,  and  turning  away  crowds 
for  a  week.  The  Panorama  was  found  too  large  and 
cumbersome  for  easy  traveling  and  fitted  badly  in  most 
of  the  halls.  It  had  been  painted  by  the  best  scenic 
artists  and  was  really  too  good  for  the  background  of  a 
jester's  play.  Artemus  divined  this  and  had  another 
prepared  in  Boston  of  smaller  size  and  with  more  of 
caricature  in  the  execution.  The  big  pictures  were 
abandoned  in  Providence;  the  smaller  served  through 
the  season  and  next,  journeying  at  last  to  England., 

The  long  season  in  New  York  caused  it  to  be  more 
and  more  "home,"  and  here  he  enjoyed  himself  hugely 
with  a  plentiful  supply  of  boon  companions. 

William  Winter  in  his  Old  Friends  gives  a  pleasant 
picture  of  Artemus  at  his  best  in  New  York:  "His  per 
son  was  tall  and  thin;  his  face  aquiline;  his  carriage 
buoyant ;  his  demeanor  joyous  and  eager.  His  features 
were  irregular;  his  eyes  of  light-blue  color,  and  in 
expression  merry  and  gentle.  His  movements  were 
rapid  and  inelegant.  His  voice  was  fresh  and  clear, 
and,  though  not  sympathetic,  distinctly  communicative 
of  a  genial  spirit.  His  attire  was  rich  and  gay — the 
attire  of  a  man  of  fashion.  He  possessed  to  an  ex 
traordinary  degree  the  faculty  of  maintaining  a  solemn 
composure  of  countenance  while  making  comic  or 
ridiculous  statements — as  when,  in  his  first  lecture  in 
New  York,  he  mentioned  the  phenomenal  skill  of  his 
absent  pianist,  who,  he  said,  'always  wore  mittens 
when  playing  the  piano,5  and  he  could  impart  an 
irresistible  effect  of  humor  by  means  of  a  felicitous, 

[167] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

unexpected  inflection  of  tone.  There  is  little  in  his 
published  writings  that  fully  explains  the  charm  he 
exercised  in  conversation  and  in  public  speaking.  .  .  . 
The  charm  .  .  .  was  that  of  a  kindly,  droll  personality, 
compact  of  spontaneous  mirth  and  winning  sweetness. 
It  is  an  attribute  that  words  can  but  faintly  suggest." 

He  lived  at  one  time  in  the  Jones  House,  at  the 
southeast  corner  of  Broadway  and  Great  Jones  Street. 
One  night,  Winter  relates — or,  rather,  about  3  A.M. — 
he  and  other  gay  companions  accompanied  A.  W.  to 
his  rooms.  Here  Artemus  summoned  a  servant  and,  or 
dering  copious  refreshments,  "earnestly  inquired,  with 
an  imposing  aspect  of  solemnity,  an  aspect  by  which  I 
was  completely  deceived,"  whether  it  would  be  pos 
sible  to  arouse  the  landlord.  The  servant  hesitated. 

"It  is  late,  sir,"  he  said. 

"I  know  it  is  late,"  replied  Artemus,  "but  I  have 
a  message  for  him  of  the  utmost  importance.  It  is 
urgent  and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  glad  to  receive  it. 
Do  you  think  you  could  wake  him?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  could  wake  him,  if  you — " 

"If  you  will,  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  blamed. 
Will  you  remember  what  I  say,  and  be  careful  to  de 
liver  the  message  exactly  as  I  tell  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  give  him  my  compliments;  be  sure 
you  mention  my  name;  he's  an  old  friend  of  mine; 
he'll  be  delighted  to  hear  from  me.  Wake  him,  and 
tell  him;  speak  distinctly,  will  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  him,  with  my  very  kindest  regards,  that  the 
price  of  liberty  is  eternal  vigilance." 

[168] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

The  success  of  the  jest  filled  him  with  glee.  The 
appreciation  of  the  landlord,  aroused  from  his  beauty 
sleep,  is  not  on  record. 

The  De  Soto,  a  restaurant  on  Bleecker  Street  just 
east  of  Broadway,  was  his  favorite  dining-place.  Here 
there  was  usually  a  coterie  of  choice  spirits  to  aid  in 
enjoyment  of  the  meal.  One  of  these  survives  in  the 
person  of  George  H.  Story,  the  eminent  artist,  long 
curator  of  paintings  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of 
Art,  whose  wife,  Eunice  Emerson  Kimball,  had  been  a 
fellow-member  with  A.  W.  in  the  Thespian  Club  at 
Norway,  Maine,  long  before. 

Dining  here  one  day  with  Story,  David  Wambold, 
the  minstrel,  Dan  Bryant,  and  some  others,  one  of 
the  unknown  persisted  in  making  some  boresome,  child 
ish  remarks  in  competition  with  the  genuine  wits. 
He  became  a  nuisance,  but  was  silenced  at  last  by 
A.  W.,  who  took  out  his  note-book  and  gravely  inquired, 
"What  is  your  age,  sir?" 

Mrs.  Story  was  a  relative  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
who  had  been  a  familiar  figure  in  Waterford,  and  was 
a  sister  of  Charles  P.  and  Hannibal  I.  Kimball,  both 
men  of  note  in  Norway  when  young  and  who  later  in 
life  had  distinguished  careers,  the  first  as  a  great 
manufacturer  in  Chicago  and  the  second  as  the  recreator 
of  Atlanta,  Georgia. 

One  night  the  Story s  went  to  the  show,  sitting  well 
up  front.  Cracking  a  joke  that  elicited  much  applause, 
Artemus  explained,  much  to  the  confusion  of  the  lady, 
that  it  was  an  old  one,  first  used  in  Norway,  Maine, 
when  he  and  "Eune  Kimball  played  together  in  the 
Thespian  Society!" 

[169] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

His  Cleveland  friends  were  always  welcome.  The 
Ryders  were  chief  of  these.  One  evening  he  took 
James  F.  Ryder  and  Susan,  his  wife,  to  a  benefit  for 
Agnes  Robertson,  an  early  wife  of  Dion  Boucicault, 
at  Wallack's  Theater.  As  Oliver  she  headed  the  cast, 
which  included,  besides,  Charlotte  Cushman  as  Nancy 
Sykes;  Lester  Wallack  as  Bill  Sykes;  J.  W.  Wallack 
as  Fagin;  George  W.  Jamison,  the  Artful  Dodger,  and 
William  Davidge,  the  Beadle.  Surely  a  galaxy  of  stars 
to  be  looked  back  to  in  these  modern  days  when  we  no 
longer  go  to  see  actors,  but  the  play.  Mrs.  Ryder  wept 
copiously  over  the  rail  of  the  balcony,  until  Artemus 
told  her  the  people  below  were  hoisting  umbrellas  to 
fend  off  her  tears.  His  eyes  were  leaking,  too,  but  the 
chance  for  a  jest  was  too  good  to  be  lost. 

Following  the  close  of  a  very  successful  season  with 
"The  Mormons"  in  the  summer  of  1865,  he  betook 
himself  to  Waterford  for  a  needed  rest  and  to  polish 
up  the  proofs  of  His  Travels  for  issue  in  early  fall. 
Pausing  in  Biddeford  to  visit  his  friend  Shaw,  he  found 
that  gentleman  had  been  elected  mayor  at  the  spring 
election  in  addition  to  thriving  in  business.  Out  of  his 
prosperity  he  had  purchased  a  fine  horse  and  beach- 
wagon  and  took  comfort  in  the  thought  of  long,  easy 
drives  along  the  hard,  smooth  beaches  of  York  and 
Old  Orchard.  He  exhibited  the  new  outfit.  It  was  a 
fatal  error.  The  seaside  season  was  not  open  and 
Artemus  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  drive  the  team  across 
country  to  Waterford.  Mr.  Shaw  was  not  delighted 
at  the  proposal,  but  consented  with  a  feeling  that  his 
summer's  fun  would  go  with  the  outfit.  So  it  proved. 
A  month  went  by,  but  no  tidings  of  the  team.  The 

[170] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

summer  advanced.  Then  one  day,  looking  over  a  copy 
of  the  New  York  Clipper,  which  carried  a  department 
chronicling  the  doings  of  the  wandering  country  cir 
cuses,  he  saw  a  notice  that  some  proud  aggregation 
had  been  exhibiting  at  Paris  Hill,  the  county-seat 
town,  fifteen  miles  from  Waterford,  and  that  in  the 
audience  was  "the  distinguished  humorist,"  Mr. 
Charles  F.  Browne,  who  exhibited  with  pride  a 
splendid  equipage  presented  him  by  his  old  friend  the 
mayor  of  Biddeford.  He  wrote  a  half-angry  appeal 
to  Artemus  to  send  his  horse  home,  and  got  this  reply: 
"I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  fuss  so  about  your  old 
horse.  I'm  looking  after  him  every  day."  September 
came  and  with  it  the  beach-wagon  and  its  nag.  But 
the  rig  looked  as  if  it  had  summered  with  the  gipsies. 
It  was  entirely  unfit  for  the  use  of  a  handsome  and 
dashing  young  mayor. 

The  summer  brought  him  many  visitors,  including  a 
favorite  friend,  Daniel  Setchell,  the  comedian.  The 
two  took  long  rides  across  country,  indulging  in 
mystifying  jokes  by  the  way,  on  one  occasion  exhibiting 
Setchell  securely  tied  and  giving  a  startling  imitation 
of  a  lunatic  in  charge  of  a  keeper  en  route  for  the 
asylum  at  Augusta.  Setchell  was  the  master  of 
grimace,  and  his  facial  expressions  were  terrifying  to 
the  rustics.  Artemus  once  suggested,  when  Washing 
ton  was  menaced  by  the  Confederate  army,  that  Dan 
should  stand  at  the  end  of  the  Long  Bridge  and  make 
faces  at  the  advancing  foe,  certain  that  it  would  scare 
them  away.  "Old  Setch  can  do  it,"  was  his  concluding 
comment. 

Mr.  Setchell  was  very  stout  and  insisted  while  at 

[171] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Waterford  in  doing  all  the  chores  to  fend  off  a  tendency 
to  apoplexy,  while  the  idle  Artemus  loafed  and  gibed 
him. 

"Poor  Mr.  Setchell,"  said  Aunt  Caroline  Brown 
once  to  the  writer.  "He  was  so  afraid  he  would  die 
of  apoplexy,  and  when  here  he  always  insisted  on 
drawing  all  of  the  water,  splitting  and  bringing  in  the 
wood,  in  order  to  get  thin.  And  to  think  that  after 
all  the  trouble  he  took  he  should  have  been  drowned 
at  sea." 

Such,  indeed,  was  the  fate  of  the  merry  gentleman. 
He  embarked  on  board  the  Trieste,  a  sailing-ship  bound 
for  New  Zealand,  at  San  Francisco,  January  1,  1866, 
and  the  vessel  was  never  heard  from  again. 

During  this  visit,  a  village  damsel  became  deeply 
enamoured  of  Setchell,  so  much  so  that  she  would  visit 
the  homestead  on  small  excuses  and  linger  for  hours. 
Perceiving  the  nature  of  the  disease,  and  feeling  that 
a  disillusion  was  necessary  to  save  much  unhappiness, 
the  pair  stole  an  idea  from  Tom  Robertson's  "David 
Garrick,"  just  then  made  popular  by  E.  H.  Sothern, 
using  Setchell's  greatest  accomplishment  as  a  means  of 
breaking  the  spell.  One  morning  when  the  lovelorn 
maiden  called  to  inquire  if  she  might  see  Mr.  Setchell, 
Artemus  assented,  but  expressed  the  fear  that  she  had 
arrived  just  in  time  to  see  him  have  one  of  his  "terrible 
fits."  She  was  ushered  into  the  parlor,  where  Dan 
at  once  gave  his  performance,  writhing  and  contorting 
his  features  into  horrible  semblances.  The  poor  girl 
fled  in  terror  and  never  came  back  again. 

Journeying  from  Waterford  to  Portland  on  the 
Grand  Trunk,  then  and  now  a  rather  deliberate  rail- 

[172] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

road,  Artemus  was  annoyed  at  the  slow  progress,  and, 
hailing  the  conductor,  said: 

"Dear  friend,  it  is  plain  from  the  speed  of  this 
train  that  it  could  never  catch  a  cow  if  one  chanced  to 
travel  on  the  track  in  front  of  it.  Therefore,  the  cow 
catcher  is  a  useless  protection  where  it  is.  But  there  is 
nothing  to  prevent  a  cow  from  catching  up  with  us  in 
case  she  should  choose  to  follow.  I  beseech  you,  there 
fore,  to  remove  the  cow-catcher  from  the  locomotive 
and  place  it  on  the  rear  car  and  so  save  us  from 
disaster!" 

From  Waterf  ord  he  returned  invariably  to  New  York, 
where,  besides  the  friends  in  Bohemia,  the  actors, 
minstrels,  and  showmen  there  rendezvoused  were  his 
intimates,  and  he  was  much  in  their  company.  Two 
special  chums  were  Dan  and  Neil  Bryant,  whose 
theater  was  a  center  of  joy.  He  always  headed  for  the 
place  when  in  town.  The  late  Frederick  Habirshaw, 
of  Brooklyn,  who  spent  much  time  during  the  war  as 
an  engineer  taking  monitors  to  Hampton  Roads,  once 
related  to  me  that  late  in  August,  1865,  he  was  invited 
by  one  of  the  Bryants  to  occupy  a  box  seat  at  the 
show.  He  found  Artemus  Ward,  Charles  Dawson 
Shanly,  and  a  tall  young  stranger  there  before  him. 
After  the  minstrel  performance  was  over,  Neil  Bryant 
and  some  of  the  performers  joined  them  and  the  crowd 
proceeded  rather  noisily  along  Broadway.  They  were 
stopped  by  a  policeman,  who  sought  to  muffle  the 
hilarity.  At  this,  Artemus  hurled  himself  against  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  officer  and  with  a  sob  proclaimed 
his  belief  that  "a  metropolitan  policeman  was  the 
noblest  work  of  God." 

[173] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Mr.  Habirshaw  often  wondered  who  the  tall  stranger 
was.  Oddly  enough,  it  was  left  for  me  to  find  out— 
quite  by  chance.  Visiting  the  exposition  held  at 
Nashville,  Tennessee,  in  October,  1899,  with  an  ex 
cursion  managed  by  the  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle,  I  went 
out  to  visit  Gen.  W.  H.  Jackson's  famous  Belle  Meade 
farm.  Sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  station  platform,  wait 
ing  for  the  return  train,  I  happened  to  be  next  to 
Maj.  John  M.  Keiley,  of  Brooklyn,  brother  of  that 
A.  M.  Keiley  whose  appointment  as  minister  to  Austria 
made  so  much  trouble  for  President  Cleveland.  He 
had  been  chief  of  Longstreet's  staff,  and  told  me  how 
he  had  put  all  of  the  equipment  of  the  Georgia  Railroad 
in  a  row  and  pushed  it  off  the  wrecked  bridge  at 
Knoxville  to  prevent  it  from  falling  into  Sherman's 
hands.  He  recalled  that  soon  after  the  war  he  came 
North,  hunting  for  a  job  and  a  food  supply,  and 
while  looking  about  a  friend  gave  him  a  box  seat  for 
Bryant's  Minstrels.  He  had  for  companions  in  the 
box  Artemus  Ward,  Charles  Dawson  Shanly,  and  a 
thick-set  young  man  whose  identity  he  did  not  dis 
cover.  Then  he  told  me  the  police  incident  almost  in 
Habirshaw's  words.  So  I  had  the  pleasure  of  telling 
him  who  the  stranger  was — thirty-four  years  after. 
Habirshaw  had  departed  this  life  a  short  time  before. 

One  gay  night  Artemus  induced  Dan  Bryant  and 
Nelse  Seymour,  another  famous  minstrel,  to  invade  the 
property-room  at  Bryant's  theater  and  garb  them 
selves  in  stage  armor.  Then,  arming  themselves  with 
broadswords,  the  trio  sallied  forth  and  waylaid  belated 
citizens,  forcing  some  of  them  to  sink  on  their  knees 
in  prayer  by  way  of  ransom.  The  sport  was  interrupted 

[174] 


DAN  BRYANT  AS   PAT  MALLOY 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

by  a  policeman,  who  escorted  the  mirthful  three  to 
the  Tombs.  The  next  morning  his  Honor  let  them 
off  with  a  lecture.  As  a  prelude  to  this  performance 
they  made  a  midnight  call  on  Thomas  Jackson,  who 
brought  the  first  Swiss  bell-ringers  to  America.  Violent 
pulls  at  the  door-knob  brought  him  to  an  upper 
window. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want?"  he  demanded, 
angrily. 

"We  want  an  engagement,"  responded  Artemus, 
sweetly.  "We  are  the  original  bell-ringers!" 

Once  at  a  Turkish  bath  in  Twelfth  Street  he  saw  two 
attendants  diligently  tugging  away  at  the  head  and 
feet  of  a  patron,  and  was  moved  to  ask  the  reason 
for  their  unique  exertions. 

"He  is  half  an  inch  too  short  to  be  a  policeman," 
was  the  reply. 

"Can  you  really  stretch  him  out  that  much?"  was 
his  further  interested  query.  He  was  informed  that 
an  inch  could  be  added  in  a  couple  of  weeks. 

"If  that's  so,"  he  said,  softly,  "I  wish  some  one 
would  stretch  Bayard  Taylor  into  a  Humboldt."  ^ 

His  second  season  with  "The  Mormons"  opened  at 
Irving  Hall,  Fifteenth  Street  and  Irving  Place,  New 
York,  August  28,  1865.  It  was  successful.  An  ac 
count-book  found  among  the  few  relics  at  the  Water- 
ford  homestead  gives  some  of  the  figures,  which  are 
interesting.  The  receipts  for  the  first  two  weeks  were 
$2,117.50,  of  which  the  book  notes  that  "Ward"  got 
$961.85.  Six  nights  in  Washington  earned  $2,008.75. 
"Ward"  received  but  $476  of  this.  Two  nights  in 
Baltimore  lacked  just  25  cents  of  tying,  the  receipts 

13  [175] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

being  $551.25  and  $551,  respectively.  He  had  fair 
luck  in  Brooklyn.  Three  nights  were  spent  there, 
$373,  $275,  and  $279.25  were  collected.  Philadelphia 
did  much  better.  Here  the  receipts  for  three  nights 
were  $485,  $629.50,  and  $564.  Four  nights  in  Mon 
treal  netted  $612.75,  and  four  in  Cincinnati  $1,081. 
All  these  accounts  are  kept  in  his  own  handwriting  and 
may  be  said  to  be  the  only  orderly  things  he  ever  did. 

The  country  success  was  very  large,  but  called  for  a 
wide  range.  Kingston  went  to  Europe  to  attend  to 
some  personal  affairs,  and  Samuel  W.  Wilder,  his 
former  employer,  back  from  California,  took  the  man 
agement  under  a  contract  and  covered  the  Northern 
states.  Then,  on  his  own  hook,  Artemus  journeyed 
South,  late  in  the  year. 

This  Southern  trip  was  made  by  river  from  Pitts 
burgh,  with  pauses  en  route,  including  a  very  lively 
stay  at  Cincinnati.  The  city  was  an  important  jour 
nalistic  center  then  and  housed  at  the  time  three  strong 
papers,  the  Gazette,  Times,  and  Commercial.  The  last- 
named  journal  was  owned  and  edited  byMuratHalstead, 
robust  in  person  and  methods,  and  Henry  Watterson 
had  a  hand  in  making  the  Times.  He  was  then  a  thin 
youth  of  twenty-five,  who  had  escaped  from  the  Con 
federacy  during  its  dying  days  and  found  his  way, 
after  all  was  over,  to  Cincinnati  in  an  effort  to  secure 
something  to  eat,  as  he  put  it.  C.  W.  Starbuck,  pub 
lisher  of  the  Times,  gave  him  a  job.  He  soon  began 
writing  "pert  paragraphs,"  assailing  Halstead,  who 
was  the  lion  of  the  local  press.  The  latter  stood  the 
prods  for  a  brief  spell  and  then  emitted  a  roar  to  the 
effect  that  if  the  little  ragged  Confederate  who  was 

[176] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

getting  fresh  in  the  columns  of  the  Times  did  not  cease 
his  cavilings,  the  Commercial  would  turn  some  light  on 
the  personal  past  of  his  employer. 

Halstead  worked  at  a  desk  on  the  ground  floor  of  the 
Commercial  office,  placed  to  face  the  street,  so  he  could 
keep  a  handy  eye  on  visitors.  He  also  kept  a  revolver 
in  a  half -open  top  drawer  to  welcome  any  who  chanced 
to  come  from  Kentucky.  One  morning  a  slim  young 
chap  in  worn  butternut  came  in  to  face  the  battery. 
He  soon  made  himself  known  as  the  little  ragged 
Confederate,  and  said  that  Starbuck  had  told  him  to 
spike  the  Commercial  or  get  out.  As  he  had  not  had 
much  food  or  any  new  raiment  since  the  blood  of 
Bishop  and  Lieut.-Gen.  Leonidas  Polk  had  spattered 
over  him  at  Kenesaw  Mountain,  he  wanted  to  hold  his 
job.  Halstead  uttered  a  mighty  whoop  of  welcome  and 
took  him  to  his  bosom.  They  remained  the  warmest  of 
friends  ever  after. 

Not  many  days  after  this  episode,  the  outside 
door  burst  open  and,  as  Halstead  once  told  me  the 
story:  "A  tall,  slim,  impetuous,  fierce,  bright-eyed 
young  man,  evidently  ostentatiously  angry,  dashed 
through  the  open  door.  He  paused  in  a  very  alert 
attitude  quite  near  me  and  glared  down  upon  me,  as 
I  was  seated,  his  fine  nostrils  quivering,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  annoyance  fixed  upon  his  features,  and 
slowly  repeated  my  name,  asking  if  I  answered  to  it. 
I  nodded  assent  and  waited  curiously  to  see  what  was 
up.  The  boys  in  the  show  business  were  always 
springing  something  on  me,  and  I  suspicioned  a  new 
one.  Stepping  back,  he  began  a  loud,  incoherent 
harangue,  out  of  which  I  gleaned  he  had  some  grievance 

[177] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

and  no  hope  of  securing  reparation.  I  was  the  kind  of 
a  person,  he  understood,  to  whom  it  was  vain  to  make 
an  appeal  for  justice.  I  tried  to  calm  him  and  find 
out  what  it  was  all  about,  when  I  located  the  word 
'show.'  'What  show?'  I  asked.  'Hey?  Why,  my 
show !'  he  replied,  hotly.  The  torrent  of  words  went  on 
until  I  began  to  think  a  crazy  man  had  got  in  and 
that  I  had  better  do  something.  A  sense  of  wrath 
was  also  rising  in  my  soul.  My  visitor  saw  it  and 
piled  on  the  agony.  To  a  curt  protest  of  ignorance  he 
replied,  'This  is  your  regular  way  of  treating  those 
who  call  upon  you  good-naturedly  for  the  least  bit  of 
justice — well,  be  it  so — let  it  fall  upon  your  own  head !' 
Out  of  patience,  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil.  At  this 
he  became  more  shrill  in  his  denunciations.  'Oh  yes, 
that's  what  I  am  told  by  everybody,  no  matter  what 
I  have  been  doing,  and  without  reference  to  justice, 
human  or  divine.  This  is  infernal!  No  man  should 
be  allowed  to  go  on  with  his  fellow-men  as  you  are 
doing.  I  am  not  disappointed.  Oh  no,  no,  no!  and 
you  may  go  on  forever,  for  all  I  care.  I  have  now  told 
you  to  your  face  what  I  think  of  you.  I  have  known 
all  the  while  there  was  no  redress  for  me.  Your 
outrageous  conduct  was  witnessed  by  everybody.  It 
is  not  a  personal  matter  to  me  so  much  as  a  matter 
of  principle.  The  people  should  be  protected  from  this 
tyranny.  In  my  case  you  have  gone  beyond  all 
bounds.  Not  only  have  you  assailed  the  show  and 
maligned  me,  but  you  have  reviled  the  elephant!'  With 
this  astounding  declaration  he  made  a  quick  turn  and 
in  a  flash  was  out  of  the  building.  While  I  was  won 
dering  what  it  was  all  about,  a  boy  came  in  with  a  note 

[178] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 


from  Fred  Hunt,  our  dramatic  critic,  saying  I  was 
wanted  at  the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel  across  the  street. 
I  went  over  and  found  a  crowd  of  the  fellows  about 
town,  and  was  gravely  introduced  to  my  late  visitor, 
who  was  Mr.  Art  emus  Ward." 

To  properly  return  numerous  attentions  Artemus 
gave  a  dinner  to  the  group  of  good  fellows,  which  in 
cluded  Halstead  and  Colonel  Watterson. 

The  trip  was  made  partly  to  avoid  the  inclement 
season  in  the  North  and  partly  to  enjoy  a  visit  to  a 
Southern  plantation,  owned  by  his  friend  Melville  D. 
Landon,  who  was  trying  to  become  a  planter  at  Lake 
Providence,  a  point  on  the  river  in  East  Carroll 
County,  Louisiana.  He  met  Langdon  at  Memphis, 
where  the  pair  boarded  the  steamer  for  Lake  Provi 
dence.  Artemus  had  with  him  three  trunks  of  per 
sonal  baggage  labeled  thus: 


A.  WARD 
HYS  STORE  CLOTHES 


A.  WARD 
HYS 

BUSINESS  SUITE 


A.  WARD 

HYS  SUNDAY 

CLOTHES 


Soon  Landon  discovered  that  he  was  the  object  of 
much  attention  and  at  loss  for  an  explanation.  "Do  I 
look  peculiar — am  I  not  dressed  properly?"  he  queried 
of  Artemus. 

F1791 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "you  are  all  right,  my  boy,  but 
you  have  a  deuced  distingue  look.  You  resemble  Gen 
eral  Forrest — that's  what  they  are  all  looking  at!" 

Pretty  soon  a  Christian  Commission  man  came  along 
with  a  request  from  the  ladies  in  the  cabin  to  "say 
some  of  your  funny  things,"  and  thus  Landon  learned 
that  A.  W.  had  caused  him  to  be  pointed  out  as  the 
owner  of  the  trunks. 

"Now  you  see  what  it  is  to  be  famous,"  he  com 
mented. 

In  forty  hours  Lake  Providence  was  reached,  and 
here  Artemus  loitered  and  laughed  to  his  heart's  con 
tent  for  a  few  pleasant  days.  The  colored  plantation 
hands  were  a  source  of  never-ending  entertainment. 
To  one  old  darky,  Uncle  Jefferson,  he  was  particularly 
attentive,  holding  forth  to  him  one  day  in  this  fashion : 

"Now,  Uncle  Jefferson,  why  do  you  thus  pursue  the 
habit  of  industry?  Indolence  is  preferable.  I  prefer 
it.  I  am  happier  when  I  am  idle.  Why  cannot  you 
pursue  a  life  of  happy  idleness,  too?  Why  do  you  not 
break  off  this  habit  of  working  at  once?  Why,  Jeffer 
son,  you  could  live  for  months  without  performing  any 
kind  of  labor,  and  at  the  expiration  of  that  time  feel 
fresh  and  vigorous  enough  to  commence  it  again.  Idle 
ness  invigorates  the  system.  It  is  a  sweet  boon.  No 
one  should  work;  they  should  get  other  people  to  do 
it  for  them." 

"You  is  jest  right,"  assented  the  receptive  Jeff, 
whereat  he  was  given  a  dollar  and  waved  sadly  away 
to  the  "quarters"  to  spread  the  satisfying  doctrine 
where  it  would  be  further  appreciated.  One  day, 
Landon  relates,  the  negroes  were  grinding  their  hoes 

[180] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

on  a  shaky  old  grindstone,  which  had  been  worn  by 
much  use  into  a  wabbling  ellipse.  The  contortions  of 
the  stone  as  it  was  turned  moved  Artemus  to  deep 
laughter.  "There,"  he  said,  as  he  waved  his  arm  in 
imitation  of  its  eccentric  movements,  "is  wit  personi 
fied,  or  thingified.  When  you  can  express  in  an  eccen 
tric  anticlimax  instead  of  a  rounded  sentence,  then 
you  will  have  something  funny." 

Elaborating  the  point,  he  once  said  to  Landon: 
"People  laugh  at  me  more  on  account  of  my  eccentric 
sentences  than  on  account  of  the  subject-matter  in 
them.  There  is  no  wit  in  the  form  of  a  well-rounded 
sentence.  If  I  say  Alexander  the  Great  conquered  the 
world  and  then  sighed  because  he  could  not  do  so  some 
more,  there  is  a  funny  mixture." 

An  example  in  point  is  a  phrase  used  in  his  lectures: 
"History  is  full  of  great  men,  but  how  few,  alas! 
would  we  want  to  take  home  to  supper  with  us!" 

A  considerable  Northern  colony  centered  about 
Lake  Providence,  tempting  fortune  in  cotton-planting. 
They  were  young  and  agreeable  men  and  got  on  well 
with  their  Southern  neighbors,  so  A.  W.  met  with  much 
generous  hospitality — too  much,  indeed,  for  his  frail 
person.  Leaving  for  New  Orleans,  he  paused  to  give 
a  lecture  at  Natchez,  in  the  course  of  which  he  paid  his 
compliments  to  his  late  hosts  in  these  terms: 

"I  love  my  Southern  brothers — and  sisters.  I  think 
I  shall  marry  a  rich  young  Southern  widow  with  a 
plantation  oifree  negroes.  Then  I  shall  settle  down  and 
return  the  courtesies  of  that  band  of  chivalric  young 
Southern  planters  from  New  York  who  entertained  me 
so  well  at  Lake  Providence." 

[181] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Reaching  New  Orleans,  then  striving  to  rally  from 
under  the  wreck  of  the  war,  he  gave  "The  Mormons" 
to  appreciative  auditors  at  the  Masonic  Temple. 

A.  H.  Williams,  in  his  With  the  Border  Ruffians,  a 
book  of  wild  Western  adventure,  mentions  hearing 
the  lecture  early  in  January,  1866.  "His  humor," 
Williams  writes,  "certainly  was  of  the  driest,  and  his 
stories,  told  without  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  were  most 
comical.  I  never  heard  an  audience  laugh  so  heartily 
as  his  did  that  night." 

Here  he  gave  a  benefit  for  the  relief  of  those  who 
had  suffered  from  the  war — women  and  children.  For 
this  he  was  bitterly  criticized  on  his  return  to  the 
North — especially  in  Boston,  which  had  forgotten  that 
it  once  mobbed  William  Lloyd  Garrison  and  sent  a 
fugitive  slave  back  South  in  chains.  The  criticism 
cut  him  deeply.  The  excessive  hospitality  and  ener 
vating  climate  of  the  lower  Mississippi  had  exhausted 
him.  He  was  worn  and  ill  and  took  a  needed  and  re 
freshing  holiday  in  Waterford.  The  long-nurtured 
determination  to  visit  England  here  took  shape  and 
he  devoted  his  time  to  fixing  up  his  affairs  for  the 
journey. 

In  the  course  of  a  lecture  trip  to  Canada  he  picked 
up  a  bright  sixteen-year-old  boy,  George  H.  Stephens, 
whom  he  engaged  as  a  page  and  valet.  The  lad  trav 
eled  with  him  about  the  country  and  was  retained  for 
the  European  adventure,  not  that  he  was  especially 
useful,  but  because  his  employer  was  lonely  and  liked 
to  have  somebody  around. 

At  Montreal,  during  this  visit,  he  fell  in  with  Richard 
Worthington,  then  a  venturesome  young  publisher, 

[182] 


THE    MORMON    LECTURE 

and  John  Lovell,  an  enterprising  printer,  whose  son, 
John  W.  Lovell,  later  established  a  great  enterprise  in 
New  York  for  the  production  of  popular  literature. 
The  two  undertook  to  issue  an  authorized  edition  of 
His  Book  for  Canadian  sale,  and  did  so.  It  is  a  very 
rare  volume,  but  one  copy  ever  coming  to  my  notice, 
that  in  the  library  of  Mountville  B.  de  la  Bruere,  of 
the  Canadian  Archives  Bureau  in  Montreal.  Mullen's 
pictures  were  used,  and  on  the  cover  Mr.  Ward  stands 
wrapped  in  the  American  flag,  his  eyes  lifted  to  the 
stars. 

He  had  some  misgiving  that  he  might  not  return  from 
Europe,  and,  among  other  preparations,  had  George 
H.  Story  paint  his  portrait  as  a  gift  to  his  mother. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  at  the  first  sitting  with  the 
artist,  "I  want  as  good  a  picture  as  possible,  but  please 
preserve  the  architectural  characteristics  of  my  nose." 


VII 

LONDON 

fair  warning  to  Kingston,  the  showman 
sailed  from  New  York  on  Saturday,  June  2, 1866, 
on  the  Inman  liner,  City  of  Boston,  in  company  with  E. 
H.  House,  a  well-known  journalist,  and  George  H. 
Stephens,  his  valet.  There  seems  to  have  been  no  stir 
over  his  departure.  The  World  mentions  it  in  the  issue 
of  Monday,  June  4th,  with  a  line  and  a  half,  reading, 
"  Charles  F.  Browne  (Artemus  Ward)  sailed  for  Europe 
Saturday." 

The  steamer  made  port  on  June  13th.  Proceeding 
to  London,  he  found  instant  welcome.  A  friend  and 
schoolmate  of  his  Waterford  boyhood,  Albion  Chad- 
bourne,  was  located  in  the  city  and  bestirred  himself 
to  give  him  an  agreeable  introduction.  Kingston  had 
already  been  busy  on  his  part.  The  summer  season 
was  spent  in  getting  acquainted  and  in  rest  and  enjoy 
ment.  With  the  magnetic  instinct  that  always  led 
him  where  he  was  most  wanted  and  where  he  most 
wished  to  be,  he  was  taken  in  body  and  soul  by  the 
members  of  the  now-  and  long-famous  Savage  Club, 
then  a  very  loosely  constructed  Bohemian  organiza 
tion,  to  which  his  coming  gave  great  vogue,  and  he 
became  its  reigning  attraction. 

Like  Pfaff's  Bohemia,  which  formed  itself  around  the 
staff  of  the  Saturday  Press,  the  Savage  Club  had  its 
origin  in  a  group  of  writers  who  contributed  to  the 

[184] 


LONDON 

making  of  The  Train — A  First  Class  Magazine,  initially 
issued  in  London,  January,  1856,  meeting  first  at  the 
White  Hart  Inn,  at  the  corner  of  Exeter  and  Catherine 
streets,  Strand.  A  room  was  later  taken  at  the  Crown 
Tavern  in  Vinegar  Yard,  opposite  to  the  gallery  en 
trance  of  Drury  Lane  Theater.  It  was  a  very  informal 
and  irresponsible  body  at  the  start  and  long  afterward. 

"I  hear,"  said  Edmund  Yates  to  George  Augustus 
Sala,  one  of  the  organizers,  "that  there  is  a  new  club 
started — The  Savages.  What  is  the  subscription?" 

"Just  whatever  the  members  choose  to  owe,"  was 
the  response. 

In  reality,  the  "dues"  consisted  of  five  shillings 
yearly,  paid  to  Landlord  Lawson,  of  The  Crown,  by 
each  member  for  the  use  of  the  room,  mainly  as  an 
obolus  given  to  obviate  drinking  "for  the  good  of  the 
house."  The  room  was  bare  and  whitewashed,  but 
Robert  Brough,  Charles  H.  Bennett,  and  William 
McConnell,  artist  members,  soon  saw  that  the  walls 
were  brightly  decorated.  In  April,  1858,  the  club 
shifted  its  quarters  to  the  Nell  Gwynne  Tavern,  in  a 
courtyard  off  the  Strand,  where  a  regular  rental  of 
twenty  pounds  a  year  was  paid  and  the  membership 
put  up  dues,  as  they  felt  like  it,  in  form  of  voluntary 
contributions.  Indeed,  there  was  no  treasurer  until 
1864,  when  H.  B.  Chatterton,  manager  of  Drury  Lane, 
accepted  the  inconsiderable  responsibility.  The  quar 
ters  were  shifted  several  times  and  at  the  period  of 
A.  W.'s  arrival  had  just  been  relocated  in  Ashley's 
Hotel  in  Henrietta  Street,  Covent  Garden.  Here  Arte- 
mus  found  them  when  he  reached  London,  and  in  the 
cheery  surroundings  he  spent  most  of  his  idle  time. 

[185] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

There  were  rare  brushes  of  wit  with  Henry  J.  Byron; 
Thomas  W.  Robertson;  the  brothers  Brough,  John  C., 
William,  and  Lionel;  George  Augustus  Sala;  Dr.  G. 
L.  M.  Strauss  ("The  Old  Bohemian");  H.  B.  Chatter- 
ton;  Andrew  Halliday;  George  Grossmith;  James  Han- 
nay  the  younger;  Tom  Hood;  J.  E.  Preston  Muddock 
("Dick  Donovan");  Howard  Paul;  W.  Jeffrey  Prowse; 
George  Rose  ("Arthur  Sketchley");  Barry  Sullivan; 
W.  B.  Tegetmeier ;  John  L.  Toole,  and  Frank  Vizetelly — 
while  affording  entertainment  to  scores  of  lesser  lights 
in  the  Savage  Bohemia. 

He  was  "put  up"  for  membership  and  duly  elected 
on  August  4,  1866.  Charles  Millward  was  his  proposer. 
The  seconds  were  Andrew  Halliday,  J.  L.  Toole,  J.  C. 
Brough,  Henry  S.  Leigh,  W.  J.  Prowse,  Thomas  Archer, 
Charles  W.  Quin,  Charles  Furtado,  T.  W.  Robertson, 
and  Howard  Paul  in  the  order  named.  Qualification: 
"Artemus  Ward." 

The  life  he  led  in  London  soon  showed  ill  effects. 
The  convivial  nights  at  the  Savage  Club,  supplemented 
by  much  private  hospitality,  were  wearing  in  the  ex 
treme,  not  so  much  from  the  absorbing  of  liquids, 
though  that  was  considerable,  but  from  the  mental 
strain  growing  out  of  being  always  drawn  upon  to 
provide  amusement  for  the  expectant  company.  His 
associations  pumped  him  dry  and  the  intellectual  drain 
sapped  his  vitality.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Millward 
became  devoted  friends,  and  Mrs.  Millward  soon  noted 
the  fading  physique  of  the  laughter-loving  guest,  and 
felt  moved  to  warn  him  to  take  better  care  of  himself 
and  live  more  quietly.  "You  must  learn  to  say  no," 
she  urged,  repeatedly. 

[1861 


£&*S .    / 


CU,**<*£ 

Hf^l*  p" 

fL^jL^.  A  iL 


FACSIMILE    OF   A.   WARD'S    PROPOSAL    TO    MEMBERSHIP    IN    THE    SAVAGE   CLUB 


LONDON 

"One  night,"  said  Mill  ward  later  to  William  Winter, 
"between  midnight  and  morning,  we  were  awakened 
by  a  loud  knocking  at  our  door;  and  on  descending, 
I  found  Artemus  there,  in  evening  dress,  unusually 
composed  and  serious.  Of  course  I  welcomed  him, 
though  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  cause  of  his  untimely 
call.  He  urgently  requested  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Millward,  and  would  take  no  denial — having,  as  he 
gravely  declared,  a  most  important  communication  to 
impart — that  only  she  could  appreciate.  Yielding  to 
his  importunity,  I  persuaded  Mrs.  Millward  to  get  up. 
The  moment  she  appeared  he  greeted  her  with  im 
pressive  solemnity. 

4 'It  is  done,'  he  said.  'I  knew  you  would  wish  to 
hear  it  at  once.  I  have  been  at  the  Savage  Club  all 
evening,  and  I  have  said  no!": 

His  particular  intimate  hi  all  the  talented  throng 
was  Thomas  W.  Robertson,  then  a  fast-rising  play 
wright,  father  of  Madge  Robertson  Kendal,  the  famous 
actress  of  our  time,  and  the  first  of  English  dramatists 
to  concoct  a  comedy  in  the  modern  sense.  Robertson 
had  been  rapidly  making  his  way  in  the  London  the 
atrical  world.  He  had  adapted  "David  Garrick"  to 
Sothern's  talents  and  sold  him  the  play  for  a  small 
sum.  Its  success,  when  presented  in  1864,  was  such 
that  the  actor  sent  him  five  hundred  pounds  as  a 
bonus.  "Society,"  produced  at  the  Prince  of  Wales 
Theater  in  1865,  set  him  on  the  highroad.  When  the 
acquaintance  with  A.  W.  began  in  the  summer  of  1866 
he  was  busy  with  the  finishing  touches  on  "Ours," 
to  which  his  new-found  friend  contributed  some  of  the 
fun.  Indeed,  its  production  in  America  was  announced 

[187] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

as  an  "Original  Comic  Drama  by  T.  W.  Robertson  and 
Artemus  Ward."  Lester  Wallack  bought  the  American 
rights  and  its  success  here  was  the  foundation  of  his 
fame  and  fortune.  It  was  first  presented  at  Wallack's 
Theater,  New  York,  December  19,  1866,  and  met  with 
a  glorious  reception  from  press  and  public.  Artemus 
was  very  modest,  indeed,  as  to  his  share  in  the  merits 
of  the  comedy,  as  this  undated  letter  to  Robertson 
shows: 

"Saturday.    57  PICCADILLY. 

"My  DEAR  ROBERTSON:  I  send  some  New  York 
papers  containing  notices  of  'Ours.'  I  regret  not  having 
the  New  York  Times  or  the  Tribune  notices — that  one 
for  the  latter  journal  having  been  written  by  my 
friend  House,  who  came  over  with  me,  you  remember, 
last  spring.  I  am  opined  by  private  letters  that  your 
comedy  is  a  very  genuine  success,  and  I  hope  by  this 
time  you  are  receiving  substantial  proofs  of  the  fact. 

"I  think  my  friends  of  the  press  have  given  me  as 
little  prominence  in  connection  with  'Ours'  as  was 
possible,  under  the  circumstances.  I  wrote,  sometime 
since,  to  House  &  Seymour  to  say  just  as  little  about 
me  as  possible.  I  mention  this  because  two  of  the 
journals  I  send  you  will  have  it  that  my  'facile  pen' 
was  actually  employed  in  the  writing  of  the  comedy. 
As  you  will  see  by  these  articles,  dramatic  criticism  in 
America  is  in  its  infancy.  It  has  been  in  its  infancy 
over  fifty  years,  I  may  add,  and  will  continue  in  that 
highly  juvenile  state  until  the  sordid-minded  publishers 
of  the  New  York  journals  can  be  induced  to  employ 
men  who  know  what  they  are  writing  about.  I  do  not 

[188] 


LONDON 

refer,  of  course,  to  the  New  York  Tribune,  Times, 
Albion,  or  Nation.  But  the  most  of  the  'Criticisms' 
I  send  are  kindly  in  their  tone — the  writers  mean  well 
— and  that  is  something. 

"Always  yours, 

ARTEMUS  WARD." 

The  American  critics  were  quite  sparing  in  their 
mention  of  Mr.  Ward's  share  in  the  "piece,"  the  Times 
failing  to  find  much  trace  of  his  handiwork  amid  its 
sparkles. 

The  play  was  produced  at  the  Prince  of  Wales 
Theater,  September  15,  1866,  and  made  Robertson 
king  of  his  kind.  It  had  the  first  "run"  in  history, 
lasting  one  hundred  and  fifty  nights. 

At  one  of  Millward's  "evenings,"  given  in  honor  of 
the  humorist,  Robertson  first  met  Marie  Wilton,  after 
ward  Lady  Squire  Bancroft,  an  acquaintance  that 
brought  good  fortune  to  them  both  and  made  the  Prince 
of  Wales  Theater  the  home  of  artistic  comedy. 

The  comic  papers  in  London  at  once  reached  out 
for  A.  W.,  but  Punch,  the  conservative  and  anti- 
American  during  the  war,  secured  him  as  a  contributor. 
He  met  Mark  Lemon,  then  its  editor,  at  a  dinner-party 
given  by  Willart  Beale  and  the  engagement  resulted. 
It  was  not  the  habit  of  Punch  to  publish  signed  articles, 
but  of  course  this  was  no  place  for  tradition,  and 
"Artemus  Ward"  was  blazoned  not  only  in  the  columns 
of  the  paper,  but  in  huge  letters  over  the  door  of  the 
publication  office,  to  the  infinite  glee  of  the  showman, 
who  took  delight  in  walking  by  the  place  and  pointing 
out  the  unwonted  decoration.  He  contributed  eight 

14  [189] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

articles,  all  under  the  heading,  "Artemus  Ward  in 
London."  The  first  appeared  in  the  issue  of  September 
1,  1866,  the  last  on  November  3d.  His  honorarium 
was  fifteen  guineas  per  letter. 

"This  is  the  proudest  moment  of  my  life,"  he  wrote 
to  his  friend  Jack  Ryder,  in  Cleveland.  "To  have  been 
as  well  appreciated  here  as  at  home;  to  have  written 
for  the  oldest  comic  journal  in  the  English  language, 
received  mention  with  Hook,  Jerrold  and  Hood,  and 
to  have  my  picture  and  my  pseudonym  as  common  in 
London  as  in  New  York,  is  enough  for 

Yours  truly,  A.  WARD." 

Lemon  evidently  had  some  difficulty  in  extracting 
the  copy  with  the  regularity  required  for  a  publication 
issued  at  stated  intervals.  Encountering  Kingston  one 
day  when  he  had  just  returned  from  an  interview  with 
the  editor,  Artemus  remarked:  "Mr.  Lemon  tells  me 
that  I  want  discipline.  I  know  I  want  discipline.  I 
always  did  want  it,  and  I  always  shall." 

Then  he  added,  serio-comically :  "Can  you  get  me 
a  stock  of  discipline?  You  have  more  of  it  here  than 
we  have  in  the  States.  I  should  like  some." 

In  addition  to  the  letters  to  Punch,  Artemus  con 
tributed  "Converting  the  Nigger"  to  a  volume  edited 
by  Andrew  Halliday,  The  Savage  Club  Papers, 
published  to  aid  the  charity  fund  of  the  organization, 
and  "Pyrotechny"  to  The  Five  Alls,  a  holiday  pub 
lication  issued  by  Frederick  Warne  &  Co.,  and  edited 
by  the  younger  Hood.  The  frontispiece  of  the  Pa 
pers,  drawn  by  William  Brunton  and  engraved  by  the 
Brothers  Dalziel,  shows  the  faces  of  the  contributors, 

[190] 


A    GROUP    OF    SAVAGES 

Frontispiece  of  The  Savage  Club  Papers  for  18G7,  drawn  by  William 
Bruntgn.    Ajtemua  Ward  looking  in  from  tjje  right 


LONDON 

grouped  around  Dr.  G.  L.  M.  Strauss,  that  of  A.  W. 
looking  into  the  picture  from  the  right.  Doctor  Strauss, 
in  his  Reminiscences  of  an  Old  Bohemian,  records  this  in 
cident  of  A.  W.'s  stay  in  London,  showing  his  way  of  ex 
tracting  and  affording  amusement  along  the  pavement: 
"Artemus  Ward,  the  prince  of  humorists,  positively 
reveled  in  what  I  think  he  was  the  first  to  dub  a  'goak.' 
I  remember,  late  one  night  in  the  fall  of  1866,  Artemus, 
dear  little  Jeff  Prowse,  and  my  humble  self  were  left 
alone  in  the  clubroom  at  Ashley's.  Artemus  proposed 
an  adjournment  to  the  Alhambra.  Prowse  and  self 
joyfully  assented.  Artemus  asked  Jeff  to  charter  a 
cab.  The  vehicle  soon  drew  up.  It  was  a  clear  night, 
and  the  hotel  and  street-lamps  shed  a  bright  light, 
which  gave  us  a  full  view  of  the  driver's  face.  He  was 
grave  and  stolid-looking,  and  evidently  self-possessed. 
Artemus  seemed  to  study  the  man's  features  for  a  brief 
moment;  then  he  intimated  to  me  in  a  whisper  that  he 
was  going  to  have  a  lark  with  cabby.  Assuming  his 
grave  air,  which  sat  so  marvelously  well  on  his  face, 
he  addressed  the  man  in  slow,  measured  accents.  'My 
friend,'  he  said,  'you  look  to  me  a  man  of  thought  and 
experience,  in  fact,  the  very  man  likely  to  decide  a 
most  important  and  most  difficult  question  which  has 
arisen  between  me  and  my  friend  there,'  pointing  to 
Jeff,  who  looked  slightly  puzzled.  'Do  you  take  me? 
Will  you  be  arbiter  between  us?'  Cabby  looked  so 
dubious  at  first  that  I  thought  he  was  going  to  say, 
'Gammon.'  or,  'Shut  up,'  or  something  of  the  sort. 
However,  so  wondrously  intent  did  Artemus  look,  and 
so  supernally  grave  was  his  manner,  that  the  man's 
suspicions  faded  away  from  his  face  as  snow  will  under 

[1911 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

a  hot  sun.  He  gave  a  half-grunt,  then  said,  briefly, 
'Fire  away,  guv'nor,  let's  know  w'at's  all  about.' 

"'Well,'  responded  Artemus,  with  slow  deliberate- 
ness,  weighing  every  word  apparently.  'Well,  look  ye 
here  now,  my  friend;  that  gentleman  there' — pointing 
again  to  Jeff  Prowse,  who,  not  knowing  exactly  how 
Charley  might  choose  to  compromise  him  with  a  may 
hap  irate  Jehu,  began  to  give  slight  signs  of  feeling 
rather  uncomfortable — 'maintains  that  it  is  the  diver 
gence  of  contradictory  opinions,  which  in  the  natural 
logical  sequence  of  reasoning,  and  in  the  inferential 
conclusions  of  argumentation,  must  in  the  final  end 
inevitably  lead  to  convergence,  and  concord,  and  har 
mony  among  people,  and  bring  about  that  most  de 
voutly  to  be  wished  for  consummation  when  man  to 
man  the  world  all  o'er  shall  brethren  be  and  a'  that. 
I  trust  you  follow  me,  my  friend?' 

"I  follow  you,  guv'nor;  fire  away,'  said  cabby, 
briefly,  who  evidently  was  not  quite  clear  yet  what  it 
all  could  possibly  be  about. 

"Now  you  see,  my  good  fellow,'  pursued  Artemus, 
with  increased  intentness  of  face  and  graver  ponderous- 
ness  of  manner  and  diction,  '  I,  on  the  other  part,  assert, 
and  I  mean  to  stick  to  it,  too,  let  gainsay  who  may' 
—with  a  ferocious  glare  our  way — 'that  it  is  contrari 
wise  and  opposite,  the  convergence  of  concurrent,  con 
cordant,  and  coincident  opinions  that  must  inevitably 
in  its  corollary  and  concomitant  consequential  train  of 
its  oncoming  results  lead  to  divergences,  difficulties, 
and  differences' — raising  his  voice  to  a  higher  pitch, 
and  frantically  sawing  and  beating  the  air  with  his  out 
stretched  right  arm — 'which  will  make  one  man  jump 

[192] 


LONDON 

at  another  man's  throat  and  strive  to  strangle  him  to 
death!'  Then  he  proceeded  more  quietly:  'Now,  my 
friend,  you  cannot  but  admit  that  I  have  placed  the 
case  fairly  before  you.  Now  please  give  us  your  de 
cision.' 

"Cabby,  who  had  apparently  listened  with  much 
serious  attention  to  this  rigmarole,  bent  his  head  on 
one  side,  and,  with  one  eye  shut,  gave  Artemus  the 
benefit  of  an  inimitably  droll  look.  Then  he  proceeded 
with  gravity  of  manner  equal  to  Ward's,  and  still  more 
ponderous  slowness  of  enunciation,  to  deliver  himself 
of  the  following  oracular  decision,  which  would  have 
done  honor  to  great  Bunsby  himself :  '  Well,  guv'nor,  it  is 
a  'notty  p'int  and  a  'ard  nut  to  crack  for  the  likes  o'  me, 
seein'  as  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides; 
and  don't  ye  think,  now,  guv'nor,  it's  rayther  a  dry 
question  to  settle?  vich  I  know'd  from  the  first,  ye  vos 
a  genTman  hevery  hinch  o'  you,  guv'nor.'  Having 
said  which,  he  looked  expectant. 

"'Sold!'  cried  Artemus,  laughing,  and  jumping  into 
the  vehicle,  followed  by  us.  'You  shall  have  your  liquor, 
cabby.  Drive  on.' 

"'Where  to?'  asked  the  man,  cheerfully,  evidently 
rejoicing  in  the  anticipation  of  a  drink. 

'"To  the  boundless  Prairie!'  shouted  Artemus. 

"'Don't  know  no  sich  place  about  London,'  said 
cabby.  'Maybe  ye'll  tell  me  vich  vay.' 

"'Alhambra  way,  then,'  responded  Artemus;  and 
to  the  Alhambra  we  were  driven  accordingly,  where 
cabby  was  liberally  treated  to  gin-sling  and  dog's- 
nose,  which  seemed  to  be  his  special  vanities." 

The  humorist's  mother  was  not  a  very  active  corre- 

[193] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

spondent,  but  his  interest  in  her  was  constant  and  affec 
tionate.  Here  is  a  letter  to  her,  written  when  he  was 
at  his  best  in  London: 

"54  PICCADILLY, 

"LONDON,  Oct.  7,  66. 
"DEAR  MOTHER: 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  had  a  letter  from  you. 
Now,  answer  this  at  once.  Don't  delay  a  moment. 
Tell  me  all  about  yourself.  Give  me  all  the  news. 
Direct  to  54  Piccadilly,  London,  England.  I  am  all 
right.  George  sends  love.  Tell  Horace  to  write.  Re 
gards  to  all  who  have  an  interest  in  me.  I  like  England 
more  and  more  the  longer  I  stay  here. 

"Ever  yr.  affectionate  Son, 

CHARLES." 

"George"  was  his  young  valet.  "Horace"  was  Hor 
ace  Maxfield,  his  Waterford  friend  and  companion  in 
the  American  "Mormon"  tour.  Of  these  happy  days 
in  London  I  have  this  reminder  from  Colonel  Henry 
Watterson,  written  March  28,  1918:  "A  most  affec 
tionate  intimacy  existed  between  myself  and  Artemus 
Ward.  We  were  in  London  together  through  the  autumn 
and  winter  of  1866-67.  He  had  his  Christmas  dinner 
with  Mrs.  Watterson  and  myself — only  our  three  selves 
—for  he  was  then  a  dying  man.  Our  lodgings  were  ad 
jacent,  he  over  Kingsford's  drug-store  across  the  way 
from  Egyptian  Hall,  where  he  lectured,  and  mine  around 
the  corner  in  Jermyn  Street.  We  forgathered  nightly 
at  the  old  Savage  Club,  until  he  could  go  no  longer, 
and,  called  unexpectedly  home,  I  left  him  five  or  six 

[194] 


LONDON 

weeks  before  he  died  at  Southampton,  where  he  had 
arranged  to  go.  It  was  a  kind  of  suicide  for  him  to 
make  an  English  tour  de  force." 

The  "show"  was  slow  in  getting  under  way.  Egyp 
tian  Hall,  which  Albert  Smith  had  popularized  with  his 
lectures  on  travel  and  George  Rose," Arthur Sketchley," 
further  located  in  the  public  mind  with  his  monologues, 
was  selected  as  the  place  of  trial.  The  Panorama  was 
set  up  and  tested  and  a  pianist  engaged  to  "tune  up" 
the  pathetic  spots.  The  program  was,  like  its  pred 
ecessors  in  New  York,  a  folder  full  of  humor  and  in 
cluded  this  invention,  by  way  of  a  testimonial: 

"TOTNES,  Oct.  20,  1866. 
"MR.  ARTEMUS  WARD. 

"My  DEAR  SIR, — My  wife  was  dangerously  unwell 
for  over  sixteen  years.  She  was  so  weak  that  she 
could  not  lift  a  teaspoon  to  her  mouth;  but  in  a  fort 
unate  moment  she  commenced  reading  one  of  your 
lectures.  She  got  better  at  once.  She  gained  strength 
so  rapidly  that  she  lifted  the  cottage  piano  quite  a 
distance  from  the  floor,  and  then  tipped  it  over  on  to 
her  mother-in-law,  with  whom  she  had  had  some  little 
trouble.  We  like  your  lectures  very  much.  Please 
send  me  a  barrel  of  them.  If  you  should  require  any 
more  recommendations,  you  can  get  any  number  of 
them  in  this  place  at  two  shillings  each,  the  price  I 
charge  for  this  one,  and  I  trust  you  may  be  ever  happy. 
I  am,  Sir,  Yours  truly,  and  so  is  my  wife,  R.  SPRINGERS." 

The  audience  was  also  uplifted  with  the  announce 
ment  that  "during  the  vacation  the  Hall  has  been 

[195] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

carefully  swept  out,  and  a  new  door-knob  added  to  the 
door."  It  was  intimated  that  Mr.  Ward  would  call  on 
the  citizens  of  London  at  their  residences  and  explain 
any  jokes  in  his  narrative  which  they  might  not  under 
stand;  further,  that  the  audience  might  leave  their 
bonnets  and  cloaks  at  the  usual  place,  but  their  money 
with  Mr.  Ward,  who  would  return  it  to  them  in  a  day 
or  two,  or  invest  it  for  them  in  America,  as  they  pleased, 
and  so  forth;  with  the  concluding  assurance  that  the 
Panorama  was  rather  worse  than  panoramas  usually 
are,  and  that  Mr.  Ward  would  not  be  responsible  for 
any  debts  of  his  own  contracting. 

Other  gibes  on  the  program  included  the  following: 
"An  American  correspondent  of  a  distinguished  jour 
nal  in  Yorkshire  thus  speaks  of  Mr.  Ward's  power  as 
an  orator:  'It  was  a  grand  scene,  Mr.  Artemus  Ward 
standing  on  the  platform,  talking;  many  of  the  audience 
sleeping  tranquilly  in  their  seats;  others  leaving  the 
room  and  not  returning;  others  crying  like  a  child  at 
some  of  the  jokes;  all,  all  formed  a  most  impressive 
scene,  and  showed  the  powers  of  this  remarkable  orator. 
And  when  he  announced  that  he  should  never  lecture 
in  that  town  again,  the  applause  was  positively  deaf 
ening."1 

The  lecture  was  carefully  rehearsed.  Mindful  of 
its  rather  mild  first  reception  in  New  York,  Arte 
mus  took  painstaking  care  to  be  at  his  best.  He 
opened  on  the  evening  of  November  13,  1866,  to  an 
audience  selected  largely  by  himself  and  the  prudent 
Kingston  from  among  the  Londoners  of  the  day  whose 
approval  made  things  go.  Kingston  records  that  the 
real  cash  in  the  house  amounted  to  but  eighteen 

[196] 


LONDON 

pounds.  Instant  success  followed.  In  the  whirl  of 
interest  Punch  so  far  forgot  itself  as  to  puff  the  show, 
writing  under  the  head  of  "A  Ward  That  Deserves 
Watching,"  the  following: 

"Mr.  Punch  would  recommend  'funny  men,'  on  or 
off  the  stage,  to  hear  Artemus  Ward  *  speak  his  piece' 
at  the  Egyptian  Hall,  and  then,  in  so  far  as  in  them 
lies,  to  go  and  do  likewise.  Everybody  who  is  liable 
to  be  afflicted  by  funny  men,  whether  in  his  business 
— as  dramatic  author,  say — or  in  his  pleasure  (so 
called),  say  as  theater-goer  or  diner-out,  must  continu 
ally  have  felt  how  the  dreariness  of  funny  men  is  en 
hanced  by  the  emphasis  and  effort  with  which  they 
force  their  facetiousness  into  your  face,  or  dig  it  into 
your  ribs.  The  low  comedian  of  the  second-rate  thea 
ter,  the  comic  singer  of  the  music-hall,  is  probably  the 
most  offensive  organ  of  what  is  called  'amusement' 
ever  allowed  to  outrage  good  taste,  good  sense,  and  good 
breeding,  and  to  minister,  unreproved,  to  coarseness, 
imbecility,  and  vulgarity.  But  nothing  contributes  so 
much  to  the  irritating  effect  of  an  'entertainer'  of  this 
deplorable  kind  as  his  way  of  emphasizing  his  own 
fatuousness,  and  writing  himself  down  as  ass  in  italics. 
Without  this  peculiarity,  he  would  only  make  us  sad; 
with  it,  he  makes  us  savage. 

"Oh,  if  these  unhappy  abusers  of  gag,  grimace,  and 
emphasis — these  grating,  grinding,  grinning,  over 
doing  obtruders  of  themselves  in  the  wrong  place- 
could  take  a  leaf  out  of  Artemus  Ward's  'piece,'  and 
learn  to  be  as  quiet,  grave,  and  unconscious  in  their 
delivery  of  the  words  set  down  for  them  as  he  is  in 
speaking  his  own!  Unlike  them,  Artemus  Ward  has 

[1971 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

brains.  That  is,  of  course,  beyond  hope  in  their  case. 
But  if  they  could  once  be  made  to  feel  how  immensely 
true  humor  is  enhanced  by  the  unforced  way  it  drops 
out  of  A.  W.'s  mouth,  they  might  learn  to  imitate 
what,  probably,  it  is  hopeless  to  expect  they  could 
understand. 

"To  be  sure,  Artemus  Ward's  delivery  of  fun  is  em 
inently  *  un-English.'  But  there  are  a  good  many 
things  English  one  would  like  to  see  un-Englished. 
Gagging,  gross,  overdone  low  comedy  is  one  of  them. 
Snobbishness  is  another.  The  two  go  hand  in  hand. 
One  of  the  best  of  many  good  points  of  Artemus  Ward's 
piece  is  that  it  is  quite  free  from  all  trace  of  either  of 
these  English  institutions.  And  it  is  worth  noting 
that  we  owe  to  another  native  of  the  States,  Joseph 
Jefferson,  the  best  example  lately  set  us  of  unforced 
and  natural  low  comedy.  His  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  very 
un-English,  too." 

The  Queen  observed: 

''The  entertainment  itself  was  a  strange  compound  of 
truthful  narrative  with  the  most  delightful  fooling  that 
it  has  ever  been  our  good  fortune  to  hear.  During  his 
extraordinary  prologue  the  audience  fairly  laughed  till 
they  could  laugh  no  more,  for  the  strange,  quaint, 
quiet,  gentlemanly  humor  of  the  lecturer  was  irresist 
ible." 

The  Spectator,  in  its  issue  of  November  24th,  de 
scribed  the  lecture  and  its  giver  with  such  nicety  as  to 
merit  reproduction  in  full: 

"Artemus  Ward  is,  as  a  true  humorist  should  be, 
even  better  than  his  books.  What  his  personal  in 
fluence  adds  to  the  humor  of  his  stories  is  not  of  course 

[198] 


LONDON 

always  easy  to  analyze,  but  mainly,  we  think,  this — 
the  impression  which  he  contrives  to  produce  that  his 
confusions  of  thought  and  speech  are  all  inevitable  on 
his  own  part,  that  his  mind  drifts  on  hopelessly  from 
one  of  those  grotesque  ideas  or  expressions  to  the  next, 
as  the  creature  or  victim  of  some  overruling  power, 
which  chooses  his  thought  and  language  for  him,  so 
that  he  is  not  even  a  party  to  the  transaction,  though 
he  has  an  earnest  and  rather  melancholy  interest  in 
the  result.  When  he  first  comes  on  to  the  platform, 
with  his  long,  hollow-cheeked  face  and  his  bright,  sad, 
interrogative  eyes,  we  should  expect  from  him,  if  we 
knew  nothing  about  the  matter,  almost  anything 
rather  than  cause  for  laughter.  He  might  be,  were 
he  not  a  little  too  quiet  and  polished  in  manner,  an 
eager  philanthropist  or  religious  preacher,  who  had 
one  sole  passion  left  burning  in  his  brain — to  convince 
the  rest  of  the  world  of  the  duty  of  joining  in  some  great 
crusade.  Yet  he  has  the  face  of  a  humorist,  neverthe 
less,  the  light  in  the  eyes,  the  twitch  about  the  mouth 
which  show,  as  soon  as  we  know  what  he  really  is,  that 
the  most  opposite  currents  of  association  constantly 
cross  each  and  pull  simultaneously  at  the  most  widely 
separated  chords  of  his  mind.  He  never  smiles,  but 
looks,  on  the  contrary,  pleading  and  entertaining,  as 
if  he  were  above  all  things  solicitous  to  get  his  thoughts 
really  disentangled  this  time,  when  he  is  approaching 
one  of  his  odd  comparisons.  When  he  first  appears, 
for  instance,  he  says,  with  the  greatest  simplicity  and 
a  pathetic  kind  of  earnestness,  that  he  does  not  him 
self  think  at  all  highly  of  his  entertainment  or  expect 
much  from  it,  that  he  only  hopes  to  obtain  from  it  a 

[1991 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

small  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  take  him  to  New 
Zealand,  for,  he  adds,  'if  I  could  only  go  to  New  Zea 
land,  I  should  feel  that  I  had  not  wholly  lived  in  vain,' 
and  then  as  the  audience  laugh  at  this  very  new  recipe 
for  avoiding  a  completely  vain  life,  he  adds,  with  eager 
ness  and  a  childlike  sort  of  effusion  to  his  audience, 
'I  don't  want  to  live  wholly  in  vain,'  at  which,  of  course, 
the  laughter  deepens  into  a  hearty  roar.    That  is  a  type 
of  the  whole  character  of  his  humor.    He  gets  hold  of 
two  inconsistent  and  absurdly  arbitrary  ideas,  con 
nects  them  with  a  sort  of  simple  fervor  in  his  own 
mind,  and  presses  them  on  his  hearers  with  an  air  of 
plaintive  good  faith  that  is  quite  irresistible.     So,  a 
few  sentences  afterward,  when  he  mentions  that  he 
would  not  allow  a  bust  of  himself  to  be  taken  because 
he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  people  carrying  him  about 
everywhere,  making  him  common,  and  hugging  him  in 
plaster  of  Paris,  and  his  audience  (rather  prematurely) 
laugh,  he  assumes  the  laugh  to  be  skeptical,  and  says, 
with  a  sharp,  half -snappish  air  of  innocent,  argumen 
tative  irritation,   'Yes,  they  would'— and  then  those 
who  saw  nothing  humorous  before  are  fully  carried 
away  now  and  join  in  the  universal  chorus.     All  his 
best  points  are  made  by  producing  this  impression — 
that  his  mind  is  floating  inevitably  along  a  natural 
current  of  ideas  where  his  audiences  see  the  most  absurd 
combinations.     In  one  of  his  Punch  papers,  Artemus 
Ward's  best  point  was  remarking  quite  simply  that  the 
Tower  is  a  'sweet  boon,'  but  the  humor  of  this  criti 
cism   would   have  been   immensely   enhanced   by  his 
manner.    He  would  have  said  it  with  such  accidental 
pathos,  as  if  the  words  were  the  only  possible  ones  that 

[200] 


LONDON 

could  have  risen  to  his  lips  to  describe  the  Tower,  that 
the  humor,  real  enough  in  the  printed  letter,  would  have 
convulsed  his  audience.  All  he  says  seems  to  be  thought 
aloud,  as  if  it  were  just  bubbling  up  new  within  him. 
And  when  he  hits  on  a  deep  thought,  and  says,  for  in 
stance,  with  a  sort  of  hesitating,  perplexed  candor,  as 
though  he  were  getting  a  little  beyond  his  own  depth 
and  his  audience's,  too,  'Time  passed  on.  You  may 
have  noticed  that  it  usually  does,  that  that  is  a  sort  of 
way  Time  has  about  it,  it  generally  passes  on,'  a  joke 
of  no  absolute  merit  takes  a  very  great  humor  from 
his  hesitating,  anxious  way  of  appearing  to  show  the 
analysis  of  his  own  embarrassed  thoughts  to  the  people 
he  is  addressing.  The  character  he  best  likes  to  fill 
is  that  of  a  sort  of  intellectual  Hans — the  world  simple 
ton  of  the  old  German  stories — in  the  act  of  confiding 
himself  to  the  public.  In  the  German  stories  Hans 
only  makes  a  practical  fool  of  himself  in  all  sorts  of 
impossible  ways.  But  Artemus  Ward  intellectualizes 
him,  shows  the  inner  absurdity  of  his  own  thoughts 
with  a  pathetic  earnestness  and  candor.  His  mind 
seems  to  wander  when  he  speaks  of  his  own  past  with 
winning  simplicity.  With  the  sunny  days  of  youth, 
he  says  many  sweet  forms  are  associated,  'especially 
Maria — she  married  another — you  may  notice  they 
frequently  do,'  and  he  brings  out  all  such  for  happy 
generalizations  with  a  real  heave  of  intellectual  travail 
that  convulses  his  hearers  with  good  reason.  Nothing 
is  better  than  his  eager,  ardent  way  of  propounding 
a  truism.  You  cannot  avoid  the  conviction  for  a  mo 
ment  that  it  has  just  struck  him  as  a  real  truth.  When 
he  points  to  the  summit  of  one  of  the  range  of  moun- 

[201] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

tains  in  Utah,  and  says,  with  an  evident  wish  to  be  use 
ful  to  his  audience,  'the  highest  part  of  this  mountain  is 
the  top,'  or  pointing  to  one  of  the  horses  on  the  prairie, 
'that  beautiful  and  interesting  animal  is  a  horse,  it  was 
a  long  time  before  I  discovered  it,'  in  spite  of  the  ex 
ceeding  simplicity  and  obviousness  of  the  joke,  which 
any  clown  in  a  pantomime  might  have  made  as  well, 
he  reaches  the  sense  of  humor  simply  by  the  engaging 
earnestness  and  naivete  of  his  speech.  Perhaps  the 
most  humorous  part  of  Artemus  Ward's  lecture,  how 
ever,  is  the  natural,  unresisting  way  in  which  he  drifts 
about  in  search  of  words  and  phrases,  often  conveying 
a  sense  of  difficulty  and  of  conscious  error,  and  then 
correcting  himself  by  the  use  of  a  phrase  still  more 
ludicrous,  and  on  which  yet  he  seems  to  have  been 
landed  by  an  imperious  necessity.  Thus,  when  he  says 
that  he  used  to  sing,  but  not  well,  he  stumbles  in  the 
most  natural  way,  and  is  a  prey  to  melancholy  that  he 
can't  hit  on  the  proper  phrase.  'As  a  songer,'  he  said, 
'I  was  not  successful';  and  then,  in  a  depressed  and 
self -correcting  way,  conscious  he  had  gone  wrong,  'As 
a  singster  I  was  a  failure.  I  am  always  saddest  when  I 
sing — and  so  are  those  who  hear  me.'  The  art  with 
which  he  gives  the  impression  that  he  is  floundering 
along  in  his  choice  of  words,  the  victim  of  the  first 
verbal  association  which  strikes  his  memory,  and  yet 
just  familiar  enough  with  language  to  feel  uncertain 
as  to  his  ground,  and  to  wish  to  get  hold  of  some  clearer 
term,  is  beyond  praise.  When  he  lighted  upon  'sing 
ster,'  he  evidently  felt  that  he  was  near  the  mark,  a 
partial,  but  not  complete  satisfaction  lit  up  his  face, 
and  yet  he  did  not  pronounce  it  with  confidence,  but 

[202] 


LONDON 

with  a  modest  sort  of  diffidence,  as  if  the  phrase  was  as 
near  as  he  could  get.  A  general  effect  of  having  to 
grope  for  his  language  before  he  can  explain  himself 
always  hovers  about  his  manner.  When  he  says,  with 
some  pride,  that  he  would  not  allow  them  'to  sculp* 
him,  and  that  'the  clothes  I  now  occupy  produced  a 
great  sensation  in  America,'  there  is  no  glimmer  of  a 
smile  on  his  face,  and  a  marked  absence  of  emphasis 
on  the  grotesque  words,  which  he  slips  out  exactly  as 
if  he  were  rather  anxious  to  divert  attention  from  points 
on  which  he  feels  his  ground  somewhat  uncertain — 
just  as  an  Englishman  abroad  hastily  slurs  over  his 
doubtful  grammar  to  get  on  to  idioms  of  which  he  is 
more  certain.  Then  occasionally  he  will  fall  in  the 
most  natural  and  helpless  way  into  a  language  trap 
of  his  own  setting,  as  when  he  says  that  in  the  hurry  of 
embarking  on  board  the  steamer  which  took  him  from 
New  York,  some  middle-aged  ladies  against  whom  he 
was  hustled  mistook  his  character  wholly  and  said, 
'Base  man,  leave  us,  oh,  leave  us! — and  I  left  them, 
oh,  I  left  them,'  where  he  appears  quite  unable  to  help 
throwing  the  second  half  of  the  sentence  into  the  form 
of  an  antistrophe  to  the  first.  It  impresses  one  as  a 
sheer  inability  to  get  out  of  the  wake  of  the  first  half 
of  the  sentence,  not  as  any  wish  to  be  amusing,  that 
makes  him  interpolate  the  second  'oh!'  He  seems  like 
a  man  who,  having  taken  a  good  run,  cannot  stop 
himself  at  the  right  point,  but  must  run  beyond  it; 
the  rhythm  of  the  elderly  ladies'  exhortation  mastered 
him;  he  helplessly  succumbs  to  it  in  explaining  how  he 
obeyed  it.  It  is  the  fatalism  of  grammatical  construc 
tion.  So,  again,  when  he  finds  the  seventeen  young 
15  [ 203  ] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Mormon  widows  weeping,  and  asks  them,  'Why  is 
this  thus?'  he  falls  a  victim  to  the  perplexity  and  em 
barrassment  with  which  the  juxtaposition  of  'this'  and 
'thus*  has  overpowered  his  weak  brain;  and  goes  on 
helplessly,  'What  is  the  cause  of  this  thusness?'  He 
cannot  evidently  help  developing  at  length  those  subtle 
suggestions  of  verbal  confusion  which  so  often  strike 
everybody's  ear  with  an  idiotic  jingle  of  fascination. 
This  is  closely  analogous  to  his  curious  habit  of  floating 
feebly  down  the  chain  of  intellectual  association,  how 
ever  grotesque.  When  he  tells  us  that  the  picture  of 
the  Nevada  Mountains  is  by  'the  ancient  masters,' 
the  mere  idea  of  the  ancient  masters  of  course  suggests 
at  once  that  they  are  dead;  so  he  goes  on,  'This  was  the 
last  picture  they  painted,  and  then  they  died.'  So  when 
he  points  out  the  lion  on  Brigham  Young's  gate,  he 
says,  pointing  to  a  very  ridiculous  and  elongated  feat 
ure  in  it,  'Yonder  lion,  you  will  observe,  has  a  tail. 
It  will  be  continued  for  a  few  evenings  longer.9  The 
humor  of  all  this  is  the  humor  of  helplessness,  the  humor 
of  letting  your  thoughts  drift  idly  with  the  most  absurd 
association  that  crosses  them,  and  never  rescuing  your 
self  by  any  insurrection  of  common  sense.  Artemus 
Ward  in  all  his  best  jokes — of  course,  like  other  profes 
sional  jokers,  he  has  some  poor  ones,  at  which  it  is 
wrong  to  smile — is,  as  we  said  before,  an  intellectualized 
form  of  the  German  village  simpleton  Hans.  He  yields 
a  literal  obedience  to  every  absurd  suggestion  of  thought 
and  language,  just  as  Hans  does  to  the  verbal  direc 
tions  of  his  wife  or  mother,  and  gets  into  intellectual 
absurdity  just  as  Hans  gets  into  a  practical  absurdity. 
This,  with  the  melancholy  earnest  manner  of  a  man 

[204] 


LONDON 

completely  unconscious  that  there  is  anything  gro 
tesque  in  what  he  says,  conveys  an  effect  of  inimitable 
humor." 

The  Times,  November  16th,  contained  this  critique: 
"Before  a  large  audience,  comprising  an  extraor 
dinary  number  of  literary  celebrities,  Mr.  Artemus 
Ward,  the  noted  American  humorist,  made  his  first 
appearance  as  a  public  lecturer  on  Tuesday  evening, 
the  place  selected  for  the  display  of  his  quaint  oratory 
being  the  room  long  tenanted  by  Mr.  Arthur  Sketchley. 
His  first  entrance  on  the  platform  was  the  signal  for 
loud  and  continuous  laughter  and  applause,  denoting 
a  degree  of  expectation  which  a  nervous  man  might 
have  feared  to  encounter.  However,  his  first  sentences 
and  the  way  in  which  they  were  received  amply  sufficed 
to  prove  that  his  success  was  certain.  The  dialect  of 
Artemus  bears  a  less  evident  mark  of  the  Western 
World  than  that  of  many  American  actors,  who  would 
fain  merge  their  own  peculiarities  in  the  delineation 
of  English  character;  but  his  jokes  are  of  that  true 
Transatlantic  type  to  which  no  nation  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  States  can  offer  any  parallel.  These  jokes  he 
lets  fall  with  an  air  of  profound  unsconsciousness,  we 
may  almost  say  melancholy,  which  is  irresistibly  droll, 
aided  as  it  is  by  the  effect  of  a  figure  singularly  gaunt 
and  lean  and  a  face  to  match.  And  he  has  found  an 
audience  by  whom  his  caustic  humor  is  thoroughly 
appreciated.  Not  one  of  the  old  pleasantries  slipped 
out  with  such  imperturbable  gravity  misses  its  mark, 
and  scarcely  a  minute  elapses  at  the  end  of  which  the 
sedate  Artemus  is  not  forced  to  pause  till  the  roar  of 
mirth  has  subsided.  There  is  certainly  this  foundation 

[205] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

for  an  entente  cordiale  between  the  two  countries  calling 
themselves  Anglo-Saxon,  that  the  Englishman,  puzzled 
by  Yankee  politics,  thoroughly  relishes  Yankee  jokes, 
though  they  are  not  in  the  least  like  his  own.  When 
two  persons  laugh  together,  they  cannot  hate  each 
other  much  so  long  as  the  laugh  continues. 
/  "The  subject  of  Artemus  Ward's  lecture  is  a  visit  to 
f  the  Mormons,  copiously  illustrated  by  a  series  of  mov 
ing  pictures,  not  much  to  be  commended  as  works  of 
art,  but,  for  the  most  part,  well  enough  executed  to 
give  (fidelity  granted)  a  notion  of  life  as  it  is  among 
the  remarkable  inhabitants  of  Utah.  Nor  let  the  con 
noisseur,  who  detects  the  shortcoming  of  some  of  these 
pictures,  fancy  that  he  has  discovered  a  flaw  in  the 
armor  of  the  doughty  Artemus.  That  astute  gentle 
man  knows  their  worth  as  well  as  anybody  else,  and 
while  he  ostensibly  extols  them,  as  a  showman  is  bound 
to  do,  he  every  now  and  then  holds  them  up  to  ridicule 
in  a  vein  of  the  deepest  irony.  In  one  case  a  palpable 
error  of  perspective,  by  which  a  man  is  made  equal  in 
size  to  a  mountain,  has  been  purposely  committed,  and 
the  shout  of  laughter  that  arises  as  soon  as  the  ridiculous 
picture  appears  is  tremendous.  But  there  is  no  mirth 
in  the  face  of  Artemus;  he  seems  even  deaf  to  the  roar, 
and  when  he  proceeds  to  the  explanation  of  the  land 
scape  he  touches  on  the  ridiculous  point  in  a  slurring 
way  that  provokes  a  new  explosion. 

"The  particulars  of  the  lecture  we  need  not  describe. 
Many  accounts  of  the  Mormons,  more  or  less  credible, 
and  all  authenticated,  have  been  given  by  serious  his 
torians,  and  Mr.  W.  H.  Dixon,  who  has  just  returned 
from  Utah  to  London,  is  said  to  have  brought  with 

[206] 


LONDON 

him  new  stores  of  solid  information.  But  to  most  of 
us  Mormonism  is  still  a  mystery,  and  under  those  cir 
cumstances  a  lecturer  who  has  professedly  visited  a 
country  for  the  sake  more  of  picking  up  fun  than  of 
sifting  facts,  and  whose  chief  object  it  must  be  to  make 
his  narrative  amusing,  can  scarcely  be  accepted  as  an 
authority.  We  will  therefore  content  ourselves  with 
stating  that  the  lecture  is  entertaining  to  such  a  degree 
that  to  those  who  seek  amusement  its  brevity  is  its 
only  fault;  that  it  is  utterly  free  from  offense,  though 
the  opportunities  for  offense  given  by  the  subject 
of  Mormonism  are  obviously  numerous;  and  that 
it  is  interspersed  not  only  with  irresistible  jokes, 
but  with  shrewd  remarks,  proving  that  Artemus 
Ward  is  a  man  of  reflection  as  well  as  a  consummate 
humorist." 

J.  E.  Preston-Muddock,  "Dick  Donovan,"  was  pres 
ent  on  the  opening  night  of  the  lecture  and  thus  de 
scribes  the  occasion  in  his  Pages  from  an  Adventurous 
Life: 

"The  opening  night  of  the  show  Kingston  introduced 
him  in  a  neat  little  speech,  and  claimed  the  indulgence 
of  those  present  for  any  nervousness  the  entertainer 
might  display  on  this  his  first  public  appearance  in 
London.  He  said  it  was  a  critical  moment  for  Ward, 
and  his  fate  trembled  in  the  balance.  Then  Ward 
rose,  came  down  to  the  footlights,  and  stood  silent, 
casting  his  deep-set,  brilliant  eyes  over  the  vast  audi 
ence,  and  twiddling  his  thumbs  in  the  most  unconcerned 
way.  A  minute  or  two  passed;  under  such  circum 
stances  it  seemed  much  longer.  The  audience  became 
fidgety.  I  heard  one  gentleman  sitting  near  me  ex- 

[207] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

claim  to  a  lady  at  his  side:  'What  a  fool!  Why  doesn't 
he  say  something?'  Once  more  a  silence  fell  upon 
the  assembly,  but  the  imperturbable  man  stood  twid 
dling  his  thumbs.  A  murmur  of  disapproval  swept  like 
a  wave  over  the  audience,  then  a  little  more  clapping,  a 
little  more  stamping,  followed  by  a  silence  during  which 
a  pin  might  almost  have  been  heard  to  fall.  At  last, 
in  his  inimitable  drawl,  Ward  spoke: 

" '  Ladies — and — gentlemen.  When — you — have- 
finished  this — unseemly  interruption,  I  guess  I'll  begin 
my  discourse.' 

"It  was  as  if  an  electric  shock  had  passed  through 
the  people.  They  saw  the  humor  of  the  situation. 
They  rose  to  it.  And  seldom  has  a  showman  received 
such  an  ovation.  The  audience  almost  raised  the  roof 
with  their  cheers  and  applause,  and  it  was  fully  five 
minutes  before  he  could  proceed.  From  that  moment 
he  became  the  idol  of  London." 

For  six  weeks  the  lecture  was  given  without  inter 
ruption.  On  Friday,  January  7th,  he  was  compelled  to 
abandon  the  platform  from  physical  weakness  and  on 
two  subsequent  evenings  it  was  necessary  to  close 
the  house,  to  the  great  disappointment  of  the  public. 
January  23,  1867,  noted  his  last  appearance.  His 
vitality  was  gone.  The  Times  of  the  24th  contained 
this  rather  frolicsome  advertisement,  the  first  with 
humor  in  it: 

"Artemus  Ward. — His  Mormons.  At  the  Egyptian 
Hall,  Piccadilly,  To-night.  The  seats  should  be  secured. 
Box  office  open  from  11  till  5. 

"Artemus  Ward. — His  Jokes.  This  evening,  Egyp 
tian  Hall,  8  o'clock. 

[208] 


LONDON 

"Artemus  Ward. — For  the  Holidays — Egyptian 
Hall,  Piccadilly. — Jokes  recently  imported  from  Amer 
ica,  and  merriments  from  the  Mormon  Region,  every 
evening  (Saturday  excepted)  8  P.M.  Doors  open  at 
half  past  7.  Saturday  afternoon  at  3.  Reserved  seats 
can  be  secured  at  the  Egyptian  Hall  from  11  till  6; 
Mitchell's,  33  Old  Bond  Street;  or  Austin's,  St.  James's 
Hall.  Stalls,  3s.,  area,  2s.,  balcony,  Is." 

The  announcement  was  not  to  be  fulfilled,  for  in  its 
place  the  next  morning,  January  25th,  appeared  this 
formal  notice  of  the  breakdown: 

"Artemus  Ward. — Medical  Certificate:  Mr.  Artemus 
Ward  is  now  laboring  under  so  much  irritation  of  the 
mucous  membrane  of  the  vocal  and  respiratory  organs 
as  to  wholly  unfit  him  for  public  speaking,  and  I  have 
consequently  urged  him  to  suspend  for  a  few  weeks  his 
entertainment  at  the  Egyptian  Hall,  to  afford  him  an 
opportunity  of  recovering  his  health,  when  he  can 
again  resume  his  lectures. — JOHN  HASTINGS,  M.D., 
Jan.  24,  1867,  2  P.M. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have  secured  seats 
will  have  their  money  returned  on  application  at 
the  hall." 

Of  the  end,  Moncure  D.  Con  way  wrote  in  his  auto 
biography: 

"Artemus  the  delicious,'  as  Charles  Reade  called 
him,  came  to  London  in  June,  1866,  and  gave  his  'piece' 
in  Egyptian  Hall.  The  refined,  delicate,  intellectual 
countenance,  the  sweet,  grave  mouth,  from  which  one 
might  have  expected  philosophical  lectures,  retained 
their  seriousness  while  listeners  were  convulsed  with 
laughter.  There  was  something  magical  about  it. 

[209J 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Every  sentence  was  a  surprise.  He  played  on  his  audi 
ence  as  Liszt  did  on  a  piano — most  easily  when  most 
effectively.  Who  can  ever  forget  his  attempt  to  stop 
his  Italian  pianist — 'a  count  in  his  own  country,  but 
not  much  account  in  this ' — who  went  on  playing  loudly 
while  he  was  trying  to  tell  us  an  'affecting  incident' 
that  occurred  near  a  small  clump  of  trees  shown  in 
his  panorama  of  the  far  West.  The  music  stormed  on; 
we  could  see  only  lips  and  arms  pathetically  moving 
till  the  piano  suddenly  ceased,  and  we  heard — it  was 
all  we  heard — 'and  she  fainted  in  Reginald's  arms.' 
Has  tricks  have  been  attempted  in  many  theaters,  but 
Artemus  Ward  was  inimitable.  And  all  the  time  the 
man  was  dying. 

"Never  was  American  in  London  so  beloved.  The 
Savage  Club,  founded  in  1857,  consisted  of  some  half- 
dozen  writers  of  plays  who  dined  together  every  week 
in  an  old  Covent  Garden  inn  (Tom  Robertson,  then 
Chief,  poked  fun  at  them  in  one  of  his  plays),  until 
one  evening  some  one  brought  Artemus  there;  then 
everybody  wanted  to  belong,  and  the  club  entered  upon 
its  larger  career.  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  it.  Yet 
all  those  brilliant  articles  in  Punch,  all  those  unforget- 
able  dinners,  lasted  but  six  months,  and  the  entertain 
ments  in  Egyptian  Hall  only  seven  weeks.  When  it 
was  learned  that  the  most  delightful  of  men  was 
wasting  away  under  rapid  consumption  even  while  he 
was  charming  us,  the  grief  was  inexpressible." 

He  fled  from  the  chill  and  fog  of  the  London  winter 
to  the  more  equable  climate  of  the  island  of  Jersey. 
This  letter  to  Kingston  tells  the  story  of  his  stormy 
stay: 

[210] 


LONDON 

"(In  bed)  BEAUCREST,  MILBROOK,  ST.  HELEN'S,  JERSEY. 

Feby.  5,  1867. 
"MY  DEAR  KINGSTON: 

"I  am  so  fearfully  weak:  I  am  so  utterly  'gone'  now 
the  excitement  is  over  and  the  reaction  is  come:  that 
I  think  it  very  doubtful  about  me  resuming  my  busi 
ness  in  a  month.  But  in  a  week  from  now  I  can  tell 
better,  and  will  let  you  know.  I  think  I  should  be 
better  off  in  London  than  here.  I  am  very  lonely. 
I  am  too  weak  to  go  out,  and  if  I  could  go  out  I  shouldn't 
see  a  familiar  face.  The  sun  shines  now  and  then,  but 
for  the  most  part  it  rains  in  a  wild  and  roaring  manner, 
that  I  never  saw  equaled.  But  wait  a  Week.  Love  to 
all,  and  believe  me 

"Yours  Ever  and  Ever, 

A.  WARD. 

"Tell  Kingsford  I  have  given  up  the  rooms,  and  I 
tho't  it  was  so  understood  when  I  left." 

No  benefits  resulting,  in  company  with  George  Ste 
phens,  his  valet,  he  left  Jersey  after  a  short  stay  to  make 
Radley's  Hotel,  at  Southampton,  his  last  stopping- 
place.  Here  he  was  surrounded  by  anxious  friends. 
Bayard  Taylor  and  other  Americans,  including  Cap 
tain  John  Britton,  our  consul  at  Southampton,  were 
in  close  attendance,  and  his  English  acquaintances 
were  unremitting  in  their  interest.  All  that  medical 
skill  could  do  was  done,  but  without  avail.  The  candle 
had  burned  too  long  at  both  ends. 

Tom  Robertson  was  one  of  those  constantly  present. 
One  of  the  troubles  of  the  nurses  was  to  make  the  pa 
tient  take  his  medicine.  Among  the  prescriptions  was 

[211] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

an  iron  tonic  of  extreme  bitterness,  to  which  he  greatly 
objected.  Filled  with  concern,  Tom  poured  out  a  dose 
of  the  compound  and  held  out  the  spoon. 

"My  dear  Tom,"  said  Artemus,  protestingly,  "I 
can't  take  that  dreadful  stuff." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Robertson.  "Take  it,  my  dear 
fellow,  just  for  my  sake.  You  know  I  would  do  any 
thing  for  you." 

"Would  you?"  said  Artemus,  faintly,  grasping  Tom's 
hand. 

"I  would  indeed." 

"Then  you  take  it." 

Conscious  that  his  life  was  ebbing,  he  called  one  day 
for  pad  and  pencil  and  wrote  this  bit  of  biography: 

"Some  twelve  years  ago  I  occupied  the  position  (or 
the  position  occupied  me)  of  city  editor  of  a  journal  in 
Cleveland,  Ohio.  This  journal — The  Plain  Dealer — 
was  issued  afternoons,  and  I  was  kept  very  busy  indeed 
from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  half  past  three 
in  the  afternoon  in  collecting  the  police  reports  and 
other  items  that  might  be  of  local  interest." 

Wearied  with  this  slight  effort,  he  dropped  the  pencil 
and  never  took  it  up  again. 

The  Savages  were  deeply  concerned.  A  heartening 
message  of  hope  and  good-will  was  sent  him  in  the 
name  of  the  club,  to  which  he  replied  by  telegraph  on 
February  13th: 

"Sincere  thanks  for  your  sympathy  and  good  wishes. 
Am  too  weak  to  get  to  London.  God  bless  you  all." 

"In  the  fight  between  Youth  and  Death,"  wrote 
Robertson,  "Death  was  to  conquer." 

Consumption,   long  latent  in  his   slight  physique, 

[212] 


JAMES    RHOADE8 


LONDON 

now  developed  rapidly.     He  died  at  seven  minutes 
past  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  Ash  Wednesday,    V 
March  6,  1867. 

There  was  wide  mourning  in  England  at  the  depart 
ure  of  his  blithe  spirit,  which  found  its  best  expression 
in  the  following  lines,  written  by  James  Rhoades,  and 
published  in  the  issue  of  the  Spectator  for  March  16th: 

ARTEMUS  WARD 

i 

Is  he  gone  to  a  land  of  no  laughter, 

This  man  who  made  mirth  for  us  all? 
Proves  death  but  a  silence  hereafter 

From  the  sounds  that  delight  or  appal? 
Once  closed,  have  the  lips  no  more  duty, 

No  more  pleasure  the  exquisite  ears, 
Has  the  heart  done  o'erflowing  with  beauty 

As  the  eyes  have  with  tears? 

n 

Nay,  if  aught  be  sure,  what  can  be  surer 

Than  that  Earth's  good  decays  not  with  Earth? 
And  of  all  the  heart's  springs  none  are  purer 

Than  the  springs  of  the  fountains  of  Mirth? 
He  that  sounds  them  has  pierced  the  heart's  hollows, 

The  places  where  tears  are  and  sleep; 
For  the  foam-flakes  that  dance  in  life's  shallows 

Are  wrung  from  life's  deep. 

in 
He  came  with  a  heart  full  of  gladness 

From  the  glad-hearted  world  of  the  West — 
Won  our  laughter,  but  not  with  mere  madness, 

Spake  and  joked  with  us,  not  in  mere  jest; 
For  the  Man  in  our  heart  lingered  after, 

When  the  merriment  died  from  our  ears, 
And  those  that  are  loudest  in  laughter 

Are  silent  in  tears. 

[213] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

The  Spectator  itself  made  the  verses  and  the  public 
sorrow  text  for  an  essay  on  "Humor  and  Faith"  full  of 
deep  feeling,  over  the  place  of  humor  in  the  fuller  life 
"in  which  it  would  not  displace  the  moral  and  spiritual 
nature,  but  serve  as  its  framework  and  its  foil." 

The  body  of  the  gifted  and  lamented  humorist  was 
conveyed  to  London  by  his  sorrowing  friends,  and 
taken  to  the  house  of  Charles  Millward,  9  Maiden 
Crescent,  Prince  of  Wales  Road,  Haverstock  Hall, 
Kentish  Town.  Here  it  remained  until  a  quarter  past 
one  on  Saturday,  March  9th,  when  it  was  borne  to 
the  chapel,  Kensal  Green,  four  mourning  coaches  and 
a  number  of  carriages  forming  the  cortege.  Dr.  E.  P. 
Kingston,  George  H.  Stephens,  his  valet,  and  Doctor 
Craft,  his  physician,  were  in  the  first  carriage.  The 
English  pallbearers,  Charles  Millward,  Andrew  Halli- 
day,  Tom  Hood,  and  J.  L.  Toole,  were  in  the  second, 
and  the  American  pallbearers,  Lawrence  Barrett,  Major 
Charles  Temple  Dix,  Albion  Chadbourne,  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  and  Edward  Curtis,  of  New  York,  in  the  third. 
Included  among  the  mourners  were  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  the  United  States  minister  to  England,  and 
Benjamin  Moran,  secretary  to  the  legation;  Thomas 
Archer,  Sells  Martin,  Charles  Santes,  Henry  W.  Chap 
man,  dramatic  editor  of  the  American;  Godfrey  Turner, 
Henry  C.  Gallup,  J.  B.  Browne,  Jr.,  Henry  S.  Leigh, 
Charles  D.  Page,  John  Parks,  J.  C.  Dalton,  E.  J.  Wil 
liams,  Alfred  Wilkinson,  J.  F.  Jacobson,  Hiram  C. 
Clark,  of  San  Francisco;  W.  B.  Tegetmeier,  O.  R. 
Chase,  of  Boston;  W.  Holland,  P.  Corri,  J.  B.  O'Hara, 
Charles  W.  Denison,  of  Philadelphia;  D.  H.  Wheeler, 
New  York  Tribune;  Stephen  Tucker,  Edward  Draper, 

[214] 


LONDON 

Walter  Wood,  Dr.  Charles  Mackay,  LL.D.,  J.  W. 
Anson,  George  Grossmith,  William  Moy  Thomas,  J.  C. 
Hotten,  Samuel  A.  Walker,  W.  Phillips,  George  Rose, 
Charles  Williams,  Louis  Jullien,  Arthur  a  Beckett, 
Henry  D.  Palmer,  of  New  York;  Colman  Burroughs, 
Thomas  Archer,  Ashley  Sterry,  John  Bellington,  Charles 
Webb,  E.  C.  Barnes,  William  Brunton,  C.  W.  Quinn, 
John  Adams  Knight,  C.  C.  Coffin,  Boston  Journal;  J.  F. 
Lockhart,  of  Nevada;  A.  H.  Dixon,  of  San  Francisco; 
Gen.  John  Lowe,  of  Indiana;  John  Clarke,  Hain  Fris- 
well,  Barry  Sullivan,  Charles  Scott,  W.  S.  Gilbert,  J.  W. 
Whitaker,  John  Hare,  Frederick  Young,  W.  Justyne, 
Mrs.  Halliday,  Mrs.  Ballington,  Mrs.  Millward,  Miss 
Clarke,  Mrs.  Kingston,  and  Mrs.  Grossmith. 

"I  was  requested  by  a  committee  of  Americans," 
says  Mr.  Con  way,  "to  conduct  the  funeral . . .  and  never 
had  a  more  difficult  or  sorrowful  task.  For  his  unex 
pected  death  was  a  tragedy  that  almost  unnerved  me. 
The  chapel  in  Kensal  Green  Cemetery  was  filled  to  its 
utmost  capacity.  All  the  chief  actors  and  actresses, 
writers  of  plays,  literary  men  and  women,  were  present, 
and  sorrow  was  on  every  face." 

Mr.  Con  way  read  the  service  of  the  Unitarian  Church 
in  this  melancholy  meeting,  after  the  chance  contact 
in  Cincinnati  six  years  before.  Following  this  the 
friends  descended  to  the  lower  chapel,  where  he  de 
livered  a  eulogy,  thus  summarized  in  the  London 
Observer  of  March  10th : 

"It  had  often  been  remarked  that  the  fountain  of 
laughter  was  close  to  that  of  tears.  Comedy  was 
closely  followed  by  tragedy.  In  the  ground  where  they 
were  assembled  lay  many  brilliant  and  fine  wits,  whose 

[2151 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

memories  were  intimately  associated  with  our  delights, 
and  also  with  our  tears  for  their  loss,  for  their  own  sor 
rows,  and,  as  too  often  happened,  for  their  early  deaths. 
How  often  did  it  happen  that  moralizing  on  the  fate 
of  the  man  of  infinite  jest  and  humor  must  be  made, 
as  in  the  play  of  'Hamlet'  on  his  skull.  And  how  mel 
ancholy  was  the  reflection  in  the  present  case  that  when 
they  were  sitting  before  the  friend  whom  they  had  lost, 
convulsed  with  laughter  at  his  brilliant  sallies,  and 
delighted  with  the  fine  touches  of  his  humor,  he  was 
wasting  away  before  them,  and  that  the  flashes  of  his 
eyes  were  mingled  with  the  same  fire  that  was  consum 
ing  his  life.  There  was  something  in  all  this;  but  the 
reflection  was  still  more  melancholy  that  he  should  die 
in  a  strange  country,  far  away  from  his  native  land, 
far  away  from  that  mother  in  whose  arms  he  had  longed 
to  expire.  Still,  he  had  been  here  surrounded  by 
friends,  and  tended  by  them  with  feelings  true  and 
genuine,  a  fact  that  he  [Mr.  Conway]  was  sure  the 
countrymen  of  deceased  would  never  forget.  That 
was  not  the  place  to  dwell  on  any  criticism  upon  his 
works.  The  verdict  of  the  entire  literary  world  had 
been  given  on  the  subject,  and  the  verdict  placed  him 
in  the  ranks  of  the  finest  and  most  exquisite  humorists 
of  his  time.  They  all  knew  how  bright  and  how  delicate 
were  the  sensibilities  which  were  required  to  make  a 
man  of  fine  and  genuine  humor,  and  the  verdict  given 
in  both  countries  in  respect  to  him  would,  he  was  sure, 
be  confirmed  by  posterity.  In  Artemus  Ward  there 
was  no  meanness,  no  coarseness,  no  vice.  He  had 
lived  in  the  public  eye  from  his  youth  upward.  He  had 
been  known,  while  yet  a  boy,  as  an  editor  of  a  paper  in 

[216] 


LONDON 

Ohio.  He  had  also  been  known  in  the  same  capacity 
in  New  York.  Thus  he  was  a  man  who  had  lived  in 
the  public  eye,  and  had  been  criticized  during  his  whole 
lifetime,  and  he  [Mr.  Conway]  would  venture  to  affirm 
that  he  had  never  met  with  one  whom  he  had  not  made 
his  friend,  and  never  lost  a  friend  that  he  had  once  made. 
He  has  never  used  his  great  powers  of  humor  for  that 
biting  purpose  which  was  implied  in  the  word  sarcasm, 
but  had  all  through  touched  with  the  most  delicacy 
the  follies  and  the  weaknesses  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  He  had  been  a  man  not  only  of  humor,  but  of 
good  humor.  He  had  never  made  an  enemy,  and  there 
was  no  man  who  did  not  feel  that  he  was  the  better 
for  having  known  him.  Affectionate  and  simple  as  a 
child,  a  fine  fancy  and  fine  intellect,  he  possessed  the 
highest  elevation  of  character,  and  all  who  knew  him  felt 
that  with  him  had  passed  away  a  genial  spirit,  as  true 
a  gentleman  as  ever  lived.  Ever  since  his  landing  in 
this  country  he  had  been  taken  by  the  hand  in  a  feeling 
of  generosity  and  sympathy — sympathy  so  deep  that  it 
was  chiefly  owing  to  it  that  he  had  not  returned  to 
his  native  land  when  he  felt  that  the  climate  of  this 
country  did  not  agree  with  him.  This  was  highly 
creditable  to  the  republic  of  letters  and  would  tend  to 
cement  a  feeling  of  brotherhood  between  those  of  the 
two  countries." 

Dr.  Spencer  Hall,  of  Bowness-on-Windermere,  next 
addressed  the  company.  The  coffin  of  English  oak 
was  metal  lined  and  carried  an  inscription  given  by 
the  dead: 

"Charles  F.  Browne,  aged  33  years.  Known  to  the 
world  as  Artemus  Ward." 

[217] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

It  was  lowered  to  the  grave  amid  a  passion  of  tears. 

By  one  of  those  strange  perversions  that  often  creep 
into  history,  the  statement  went  the  rounds  that  in 
his  dying  hours  a  Catholic  priest  had  been  admitted 
to  the  death-chamber  by  a  zealous  Romanist  friend 
and  that  the  humorist  departed  from  life  in  that  faith. 
It  occurred  in  print  as  late  as  1904  in  the  New  York 
Evening  Mail.  If  true,  the  tale  was  not  important, 
but  it  was  not  true.  What  happened  was  briefly  this: 
George  Rose,  "Arthur  Sketchley,"  was  an  ardent 
Catholic  and  did  express  an  anxious  desire  that  the 
last  hours  of  his  friend  should  be  comforted  by  a 
clergyman.  To  this  end  the  Rev.  Father  Robert  Mount 
called  three  times.  The  London  Tablet,  organ  of  the 
church,  asserted  that  Father  Mount  "did  under  the 
circumstances  what  he  was  justified  in  doing  for  the 
safety  of  the  dying  man." 

This  reference  raised  a  storm  in  the  Savage  Club 
which,  J.  E.  Preston  Muddock  wrote  in  his  recollec 
tions,  Pages  from  an  Adventurous  Life,  was  "very 
nearly  the  cause  of  wrecking  it."  A  newspaper  con 
troversy  followed  and  the  club  was  filled  with  bitter 
ness.  The  commotion  subsided  on  the  publication  in 
the  Tablet  of  this  letter  from  Doctor  Kingston,  under 
date  of  March  23,  1867: 

"SiR, — As  your  brief  obituary  notice  of  the  late 
lamented  Artemus  Ward  almost  implies  that  my  late 
friend  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  will  you  kindly  permit 
me  to  state  that  Charles  Farrar  Browne  lived  and  died 
in  the  Protestant  faith?  It  is  quite  true  that  a  Roman 
Catholic  clergyman  called  upon  him  during  the  early 
stages  of  his  last  illness,  and  kindly  tendered  his  spiritual 

[218] 


LONDON 

offices,  but  those  offices  were  respectfully  and  firmly 
declined.  The  same  reverend  gentleman  also  visited 
my  poor  friend  on  Sunday,  the  3d  instant;  but  Mr. 
Browne  was  then  unconscious,  and  from  that  hour  to 
the  moment  of  his  death  existence  to  him  was  a  blank, 
and  he  expired  peacefully  and  painlessly  in  the  presence 
of  friends  whom  he  loved  to  know,  but  whom  he  failed 
to  recognize  during  the  last  sad  days  of  his  life.  Mr. 
Browne  had  previously  repeatedly  assured  me  that 
he  was  not  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  hence  it  was  that 
his  sorrowing  friends  interred  his  body  at  Kensal  Green 
in  strict  accordance  with  the  faith  he  always  professed. 
The  same  friends  would  have  followed  his  dust  with 
equal  reverence  to  a  Roman  Catholic  burial  if  their 
much-lamented  companion  had  been  a  follower  of  that 
faith;  but  Mr.  Browne  lived  and  died  a  Protestant, 
and  as  a  Protestant  he  was  buried." 

Though  more  than  fifty  years  have  passed  since  the 
young  American  scintillated  among  the  Savages,  his 
memory  is  still  held  dear.  His  portrait,  in  colored 
crayon,  by  Walter  Dubisson,  and  one  of  the  best  ex 
tant,  hangs  in  the  unique  club-house  on  Adelphi  Ter 
race,  together  with  a  fine  drawing  of  his  Waterford 
home,  by  Charles  Upham,  one  of  the  artists  of  the  old 
Frank  Leslie  staff,  and  the  bust  from  life,  by  Geflowski, 
stands  in  the  hall.  Ten  copies  of  Geflowski's  bust 
were  made.  It  remains  a  notable  fact  that  no  other 
American  ever  so  impressed  himself  upon  the  life  of 
London.  The  Authors  Club,  in  its  rooms  in  the 
Carnegie  Building,  New  York,  possesses  a  manu 
script  copy  of  James  Rhoades's  poem,  "On  the  Death 
of  Artemus  Ward,"  preserved  in  a  frame,  together  with 

16  [219] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

a  letter  accompanying  it  sent  by  Mr.  Rhoades  to  Dr. 
Rossiter  Johnson,  who  added  it  to  the  treasures  of  the 
organization  in  1913.  IM  this  note  Mr.  Rhoades  says: 
"How  well  I  remember  going  to  hear  Artemus  Ward 
lecture  in  the  Egyptian  Hall  (London).  Mr.  Mac- 
millan,  with  my  old  friend  Henry  S.  Sidgwick,  sat  in 
the  row  in  front  of  me,  and  Bishop  Temple,  our  old 
headmaster,  afterward  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was 
behind  us  and  laughed  louder  than  any  one." 

If  the  bishop  laughed  with  others,  there  were  occa 
sional  Britons  who  did  not,  among  them  the  good  and 
great  John  Bright,  who  remarked,  after  hearing  the 
lecture,  that  "its  information  was  meager,  and  pre 
sented  in  a  desultory,  disconnected  manner." 

In  1870  the  "Panorama"  turned  up  in  Halifax,  Nova 

*    Scotia,    chaperoned   by    another    "Brown,"    who    at- 

tempted  to  repeat  the  Mormon  lecture  in  imitation  of 

the  original.     It  was  not  successful  and  the  pictures 

vanished  in  the  junk-heap  of  time. 

A.  W.'s  will  was  made  at  Southampton,  February 
23,  1867.  It  provided  first  that  the  library  of  books  be 
queathed  him  by  his  uncle,  Calvin  Farrar,  should  be 
given  the  Waterford  boy  or  girl  who  passed  the  best 
school  examination  between  the  first  day  of  January 
and  that  of  April  following  his  decease,  giving  Moses 
Mason  Robinson,  a  New  York  lawyer,  a  native  of 
Waterford,  the  power  of  appointing  the  examiners  and 
attending  to  the  details  of  the  bequest.  Second,  that 
George  H.  Stephens,  his  personal  attendant,  should 
work  as  a  printer's  apprentice  for  two  years  in  the 
Riverside  Press  at  Cambridge,  at  the  end  of  which  time, 
if  his  record  was  good,  he  was  to  be  sent  to  the  Academy 

[220] 


BUST   OF   ARTEMUS   WARD    BY   GEFLOWSKI 


LONDON 

at  North  Bridgton,  a  school  still  existing,  and  near 
Waterford,  the  estate  to  pay  the  cost  of  his  education. 
Horace  Maxfield  and  Livingston  Gain  Robinson,  both 
of  Waterford,  were  made  trustees.  Thomas  W.  Robert 
son,  author  of  "Fashion"  and  "Society,"  was  named 
as  literary  executor  for  his  books  and  manuscripts  in 
England,  and  Richard  Henry  Stoddard  and  Charles 
Dawson  Shanley  were  appointed  to  a  similar  trust  in 
America.  He  directed  that  all  revenue  should  go  to 
the  support  of  his  mother,  save  the  sum  needed  to 
educate  Stephens,  and  upon  her  decease  one  thousand 
dollars  each  to  the  children  of  John  C.  Gerry,  of  Water- 
ford  Lower  Village,  who  was  husband  of  his  aunt 
Nancy,  the  balance  to  be  paid  as  his  mother  might 
devise,  save  in  case  her  decease  preceded  his,  when  the 
estate  was  to  go  to  such  kin  as  might  legally  be  entitled 
to  share  in  it.  James  Sharp  and  John  Neat  Pocock,  of 
Southampton,  were  witnesses,  and  the  will  was  further 
attested  by  John  Britton,  the  United  States  consul. 
The  next  day,  February  24th,  the  will  was  considerably 
amended  by  a  codicil,  in  which  he  gave  one  hundred 
pounds  each  to  Doctor  Kingston's  sons,  James  and 
John  Cincinnatus  Kingston,  and  limited  the  stay  of 
George  H.  Stephens  at  North  Bridgton  to  two  years. 
Doctor  Kingston  was  made  co-administrator  with 
Robertson  in  England,  and  the  revisionary  power  over 
his  estate  was  taken  from  his  mother,  directing  instead 
that  the  residue  go  toward  the  founding  of  "an  asylum 
for  worn-out  printers  in  the  United  States,"  the  same 
to  be  paid  to  Horace  Greeley,  "his  receipt  alone"  to 
be  accepted  as  a  sufficient  discharge  for  the  trustees. 
Pocock  and  Charles  Mill  ward  witnessed  this  codicil. 

[221] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

The  will  proper  directed  that  his  body  should  be  buried 
at  Waterford  Upper  Village.  The  codicil  changed  this 
to  Waterford  Lower  Village.  This  instruction  was  soon 
carried  out.  In  May  his  body  was  taken  from  Kensal 
Green  and  sent  across  the  sea,  reaching  Waterford 
early  in  June,  1867.  The  funeral  was  held  on  June  6th, 
when  the  children  of  the  village  gathered  the  wild 
flowers  to  strew  upon  his  grave.  The  metal  lining  of 
the  casket  was  unsoldered  so  that  his  mother  might 
look  once  more  upon  his  face.  Then,  conveyed  in  a 
common  beach-wagon  from  which  the  seats  had  been 
removed,  it  was  borne  to  Elm  Vale,  to  be  laid  at  rest 
under  a  stone  bearing  this  inscription: 

Rest,  loved  one,  rest. 
CHARLES  FARRAR  BROWNE 

Known  to  the  world  as 

"Artemus  Ward." 

Died  in  Southampton,  Eng., 

March  6,  1867, 

Aet.  33  yrs. 

His  name  will  live  as 

A  sweet  and  unfading  recollection. 

All  his  family  lie  with  him — the  sisters,  first  dead, 
his  father,  mother,  and  brother  Cyrus.  After  the  death 
of  Mrs.  Brown,  Alfred  S.  Kimball,  the  family  attorney, 
carrying  out  her  request,  built  a  modest  monument  to 
mark  the  lot.  It  is  indeed  a  vale  under  the  feathery 
elms  that  give  it  beauty  and  a  name. 


VIII 

LETTERS  AND  FRAGMENTS 

shortened  life  of  the  humorist  and  his  busy 
public  career  told  against  any  great  volume  of 
literary  activity.  In  all,  four  volumes  were  created 
from  his  pen,  His  Book,  His  Travels,  Artemus  Ward  in 
London,  and  The  Mormons,  the  last  two  issued  after  his 
death,  in  1867  and  1868,  respectively,  under  the  editor 
ship  of  T.  W.  Robertson  and  Dr.  E.  P.  Kingston.  The 
irresponsible  John  Camden  Hotten  put  together  a 
"complete"  volume,  and  sold  it  widely,  but  the  execu 
tors  dealt  with  Ward,  Locke  &  Co.,  and  their  volume  is 
the  best,  though  lovers  of  the  humorist  will  find  much 
of  value  in  Hotten,  interspersed  with  considerable 
spurious  material.  G.  W.  Carleton,  in  1868,  issued  in 
wrappers,  Sandwiches  by  Artemus  Ward,  containing 
many  of  his  best  efforts.  He  left  no  mass  of  rubbish 
to  sort  through  for  posthumous  printing.  His  own  sense 
of  values  was  nice,  and,  as  he  once  said:  "I  wait  until 
some  fancy  strikes  me,  which  by  and  by  is  followed  by 
another.  When  there  are  a  half-dozen  or  so  I  put  them 
on  paper.  I  may  write  two  letters  the  same  week  and 
then  a  month  or  more  may  go  by  without  a  paragraph." 

He  knew,  as  do  the  wise,  that  the  best  juice  flowed 
from  the  first  turn  of  the  wine-press;  when  the  screw 
began  to  strain  the  product  became  acrid  and  without 
sparkle. 

In  a  battered  pocket  note-book  carried  during  186 1-62 

[223] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

are  many  idle  fancies,  jotted  down  to  await  a  fitting 
mortise  in  his  mind,  together  with  dates,  routes,  laundry 
lists,  penciled  as  they  tumbled  through  his  brain  on 
trains  and  stages  as  he  journeyed  from  town  to  town 
"speaking  the  piece." 

Here  in  its  worn  pages  are  to  be  found  all  the  traces 
of  his  literary  ways  that  survive.  They  show  that  he 
really  had  no  methods  at  all  beyond  responding  to 
the  devil's  call  for  copy  in  the  office  of  Vanity  Fair. 
Humor  must  be  jostled  to  display  itself.  To  chance  and 
incident  Artemus  owed  much  that  was  mirthful.  These 
dim  lines  were  the  threads  upon  which  he  strung  the 
jewels  of  his  wit.  Often  the  ideas  are  found  repeated 
and  do  not  always  reappear  in  his  writings.  But  in 
almost  every  case  the  notion  crops  out  somewhere, 
a  better  thought  having  popped  into  being  at  the  mo 
ment  of  writing. 

It  is  not  possible,  therefore,  to  make  a  transcript 
of  these  scribblings  altogether  intelligible.  Only  they 
do  not  need  to  be  considered  a  meaningless  jumble. 
Here  rambling  across  a  page  is  the  earnest  query, 
"What  is  home  without  a  mother?"  Common  enough 
a  question  now,  whether  used  humorously  or  pathetic 
ally.  Artemus  brought  it  to  life  during  the  war-time 
when  the  sacred  word  was  very  much  abused.  Indeed, 
so  much  was  he  surfeited  with  the  constant  desire  to 
know  "Who  will  care  for  mother  now?"  that  he  once 
plaintively  asked  if  "it  wasn't  about  time  somebody 
cared  for  the  old  man?" 

Here  are  the  phrases  of  a  page: 

"What  of  the  fight?  Better  be  a  coward  than  a 
corpse." 

[224] 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

"I  am  not,  as  is  generally  supposed,  the  author  of 
'Procrastination  is  the  Thief  of  Time."5 

Half-wits,  of  whom  there  were  some  queer  specimens 
in  the  village  of  his  birth,  possessed  a  strange  interest 
for  him.  The  note-book  says: 

"I  once  knew  an  idiot  of  peculiar  construction  who 
used  to  gibber  with  enhanced  hilarity  whenever  a 
funeral  occurred  in  the  town.  The  only  gentlemanly 
thing  he  ever  did  was  to  cut  his  throat  one  day.  He 
did  it  effectively." 

Ward's  essay  on  "Forts"  was  one  of  his  ablest  dis 
sertations.  The  note-book  contains  hints  of  it  that 
were  not  utilized.  They  have  a  patriotic  flavor  befit 
ting  the  time:  "Gen.  Halleck's  fort  is  Fort  Donel- 
son" — that  historic  earthwork  having  just  been  taken, 
but  not  by  Halleck — and  "Gen.  Stone's  fort  is  Fort 
Lafayette."  Gen.  C.  P.  Stone  had  been  placed  in 
Fort  Lafayette  to  await  the  result  of  a  court  of  inquiry. 
There  was  no  merit  in  either  play  of  the  word,  and 
Artemus  did  not  mar  his  essay  with  them. 

Some  reflections  on  the  war  period  appear: 

"Floyd  stole  out:  of  course  he  did:  he'd  stole  the 
fort  Donelson  if  he  could." 

"No  Pillow.     Floyd,  Buckner,  Johnson." 

"Nothing  else  could  do,  unless  they  went  South  as 
Zollicoffer  did." 

"Without  money;  without  Price" — referring  to 
Gen.  Stirling  Price,  the  Missouri  Confederate. 

"Mr.  Beecher  said  England  had  given  us  Puritanism. 
We'll  give  benefits." 

"Burnside's  expedition;  let  it  be  recorded." 

Queer,  indistinct  enterings  are  plenty,  such  as  these; 

[225] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"He  is  sumach  of  all  he  surveys." 

"Bedevelled  kidneys." 

"Present  company  expected." 

"Writing  on  Erie  road.     Very  jiggly." 

"  Dutchman !    What  of  the  night?" 

"Squirmishes." 

"Whited  Seppulker." 

"Lean  and  slippery  pantaloon." 

"Mrs.  L. — dinner  hour." 

"Nearly  all  men  are  mortal." 

"A  Patriot's  heart  is  pried." 

"Certainly  not.  By  all  means!  Procession  proceed 
toprocesh!" 

"The  benefits  of  intemperance  .  .  ." 

"If  you  belong  to  Gideon's  band,  etc." 

"Refused  by  the  New  York  Ledger  .  .  ." 

"Saved  a  good  deal  of  liquor  by  friends  drinking  it 
all  up." 

For  the  public  the  note-book  records  this  single 
reproach: 

"People  who  don't  like  my  lecture  won't  come  to  a 
good  end." 

The  same  page  records  the  opinion  that  Albany, 
New  York,  "is  a  way  station." 

New  Haven  pleased  him  little  better:  The  note 
book  says,  crossly:  "New  Haven  depot — thought  it 
was  a  dungeon." 

The  poverty  of  his  editorial  days  no  doubt  created 
the  condition  that  caused  the  appearance  of  the  sub 
joined  thought: 

"In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  debt." 

Two   phrases,  "His  wife's   mother  on  the  female 

[226] 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

side,"  and  "Ten  years'  experience  in  the  ring,"  keep 
each  other  suspicious  company.  Here  is  the  jumble 
upon  another  page: 

"They  say:    'Look  at  our  papers,'  which  nobody 
will  do  upon  any  terms." 

"I  should  rather  be  the  author  of  a  poem  than  the 
president  of  a  temperance  society." 

.  .  .  which  is  a  kind  of  a  way  leaves  have  in 
autumn." 

"Rat  jump  over  a  trunk." 

"Accommodations  for  fifteen  thousand  more  guests, 
baths,  etc." 

"The  old  black  cat  kicked  a  hole  in  the  looking- 
glass." 

"Shell  with  oyster." 

"Betsey  J.  at  the  levee."     The  last  evidently  the 
title  of  a  never  written  sketch. 
"Gov.  Buckingham's  turkey." 

"Why  do  Summer  roses  fade?  Because  it  is  their 
Biz." 

Artemus  once  remarked  that  Shakespeare  would 
not  have  succeeded  as  the  Washington  correspondent 
of  a  New  York  newspaper  because  "he  lacked  the 
rekesite  fancy  and  imaginashun,"  and  he  evidently 
believed  that  Shakespeare  had  not  done  his  best,  for 
the  note-book  observes,  critically: 

"Shakespeare  would  have  signalized  himself  if  he 
had  tried." 

Now  and  then  the  sensational  crops  out:  "Macbeth? 
Murder?  Immediate  attention  of  the  Selectmen?" 

But  the  note-book  is  not  averse  to  sentiment.  Wit 
ness  this : 

[227] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you,  no  knife  can  cut  our 
love  in  two." 

Remonstrance  is  at  times  visible.     Here  is  a  sample: 

"Ethereal  Cuss — none  of  your  ingrammaticisms." 

Along  with  his  curling-tongs  Artemus  carried  a  small 
coffee-mill  on  his  travels,  in  which  the  pure  berry  was 
ground  to  insure  a  good  brew  of  the  cheering  beverage, 
of  which  he  wrote  in  his  note-book: 

"Coffee  is  a  slow  poison — the  slowest  poison  known." 
The  mill  is  still  preserved  in  a  Maine  household. 

He  reveled  in  odd  expressions.  Edward  L.  Parris, 
of  Paris  Hill,  Maine,  long  an  eminent  attorney  in  New 
York,  who  had  known  Artemus  in  his  school-days  at 
Norway  and  in  the  ripe  hours  in  the  metropolis,  was 
standing  on  the  platform  at  Danville  Junction,  when 
the  Grand  Trunk  train,  bearing  Artemus  on  his  journey 
toward  England,  came  along.  The  yellow  curls  were 
poked  out  of  the  window  and  the  gentle  voice  asked: 

"  Where  goestthou?" 

"Upwardest,"  was  the  reply. 

Then  the  train  rolled  on.  He  had  gotten  the  answer 
he  enjoyed :  one  in  kind. 

He  delighted  in  children  and  in  the  note-book  he 
jotted  names  and  addresses  of  little  folks.  Occasion 
ally  the  children  wrote  their  own  autographs.  One  of 
these,  ADA  MILLS,  printed  in  a  childish  hand,  stands 
out  in  big  capitals.  This  was  penciled  by  the  bright 
little  daughter  of  Myron  H.  Mills,  of  Cortlandt,  New 
York,  whose  address  is  written  underneath  by  A.  W. 
She  was  a  child  of  exceptional  wit  and  understanding 
who  made  a  strong  appeal  to  the  humorist.  The  family 
removed  to  Binghamton,  where  late  in  life  Miss  Mills 

[228] 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

married  Celora  E.  Martin,  judge  of  the  New  York 
State  Court  of  Appeals,  who  died  September  10,  1909, 
surviving  him  until  March  30,  1917. 

Artemus  had  a  tolerant  mind.  One  of  Waterford's 
characters  was  Washington  Hale,  who  once  kept  a 
hotel  frequented  by  doubtful  characters  and  after 
A.  W.'s  time  was  known  to  have  harbored  Langdon  W. 
Moore,  a  noted  cracksman,  preparatory  to  robbing 
the  savings-bank  in  Norway.  "Upon  mature  delibera 
tion,"  said  Artemus,  "I  have  decided  to  call  him  'hon 
est  old  Wash.'  In  view  of  the  fact  that  he  has  been 
twice  in  the  penitentiary  and  ought  to  be  kept  there 
all  the  time,  it  seems  to  me  this  is  as  complimentary  as 
the  occasion  requires." 

His  life  on  the  road  was  hard.  The  lecturer  had 
not  only  to  entertain  the  audience,  but  after  the  show 
was  over  it  was  expected  that  he  would  beguile  the 
"committee"  and  a  few  of  the  leading  citizens,  includ 
ing  the  local  editors,  into  the  small  hours.  The  late 
E.  Prentiss  Bailey,  for  half  a  century  the  head  of  the 
Utica  Observer,  used  to  relate  that  when  A.  W.  came  to 
Utica  he  was  chairman  of  the  "committee."  A 
prominent  personage  in  the  little  city  of  that  day  was 
Gen.  James  McQuade,  a  distiller  who  produced  a 
brand  of  whisky  called  "Mountain  Dew,"  of  whose 
pervasive  potency  he  was  justly  proud.  After  the 
lecture  he  became  the  host  for  the  tail  end  of  the  eve 
ning.  A  tempting  collation  was  set  out  in  the  dining- 
room  of  his  mansion,  with  plenty  of  the  "Dew"  on  the 
side.  "Help  yourselves,"  urged  the  host.  "There 
isn't  a  headache  in  a  hogshead  of  it."  They  "helped." 
Mr.  Bailey  left  at  midnight.  About  noon  the  next  day 

[229] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Artemus,  faded  and  ill-looking,  dropped  into  the  news 
paper  shop.     Mr.  Bailey  looked  at  him  inquiringly: 

"I    wish    I'd    taken    a    hogshead/'    said    the    de 
pressed  lecturer.     "He  said  there  wasn't  a  headache 


in  one." 


He  had  his  own  opinion  of  the  hard-faced  Maine 
farmer  and  liked  to  tell  tales  of  crude  characteristics. 
Indeed,  he  regarded  farming  in  the  state  as  a  species 
of  bad  luck.  In  one  of  his  skits  he  refers  to  a  young 
man  who  jeered  his  baldness,  remarking  "the  good 
head  of  hair"  on  the  back  of  the  showman's  neck,  for 
which  ribaldry  he  was  soon  punished.  "What  hap 
pened?"  observed  Mr.  Ward,  in  discussing  retribution. 
"In  less  than  a  month  that  young  man's  aunt  died 
and  left  him  a  farm  in  Oxford  County,  Maine.  The 
human  mind  can  picter  no  greater  misfortin  than 
this." 

One  of  his  pet  yarns  told  of  the  farmer  who  set  a 
jealous  value  on  time,  so  much  so  that  when  his  wife 
died  a  neighbor  calling  to  extend  sympathy  found  him 
in  the  well.  He  explained  that  his  wife's  death  had 
sort  o'  broken  up  the  day  so  he  thought  he'd  make  the 
best  of  it  by  cleaning  the  well.  During  the  funeral 
services,  called  for  2  P.M.,  he  was  observed  to  snap  his 
watch  frequently  until  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the 
grave,  when  he  announced,  exultantly,  "It  was  just 
two  twenty  when  we  got  her  in!" 

Some  of  the  few  letters  surviving  from  his  consider 
able  correspondence  are  cryptic  now.  Witness  the 
following  written  in  London,  the  point  of  which  has 
vanished,  but  evidently  concealed  a  crack  at  the  per 
son  addressed: 

[230] 


tt 
tt 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

"54  PICCADILLY, 
Monday,  Sept.  17  (1866). 
MY  DEAR  SIR: 

If  you  continue  to  be  Ward,  I  shall  feel  compelled 
to  tell  you  to  be- Ware. 

"Is  not  the  point  of  the  joke  obvious? — is  it  not— 
but  come  and  see  me. 

"A.  WARD." 

"I  should  think  we  came  from  Jerusalem,"  he  once 
replied  to  Kingston  when  questioned  about  his  ancestry, 
"for  my  father's  name  was  Levi,  and  we  had  a  Nathan 
and  a  Moses  in  the  family.  But  my  poor  brother's 
name  was  Cyrus,  so  perhaps  that  makes  us  Persians." 

"They  are  very  rough,"  he  once  said  to  Hingston, 
of  his  neighbors  in  Waterford,  "but  they  are  a  lot  of 
good  old  souls.  They  don't  understand  me.  Some  of 
them — bless  their  kind  hearts — think  I  ought  to  be 
sent  to  the  state  prison  for  having  changed  my  name. 
More  of  them  pity  me  for  a  poor  idiot.  Some  of  them 
want  to  make  me  good.  They  would  give  up  all  their 
time  in  trying  to  make  me  so,  and  be  self-forgetful 
enough  to  let  themselves  run  to  the  bad." 

Even  beyond  the  minstrels  the  circus  appealed  to 
his  yearning  for  entertainment.  All  the  clowns  in 
America  were  on  his  list  of  acquaintances,  and  he  never 
missed  a  show  when  one  was  near.  He  had  also  a 
close  kinship  for  the  stage  and  had  tried  his  hand  as  an 
amateur  actor,  but  with  poor  success.  He  was  too 
original  to  be  an  imitation.  He  once  tried  to  play 
Romeo  at  a  local  affair,  but  forgot  his  lines  and  had  to 
ask  Juliet  for  the  prompt-book  which  she  carried  in 

[231] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

her  bosom  in  order  that  he  might  read  the  responses 
to  her  burning  words! 

Just  as  prophets  are  notoriously  without  honor  in 
their  own  country,  so,  it  would  appear,  are  humorists. 
In  Waterford,  even  little  more  than  a  decade  after  his 
death,  there  was  scant  knowledge  of  or  interest  in  Arte- 
mus  Ward.  The  village  memory  was  only  that  of  a 
careless,  curious  boy,  not  altogether  bright  in  Down 
East  parlance,  an  idler  in  school  and  of  no  importance 
in  industry,  while  of  his  grown-up  years  they  remem 
bered  the  very  queer  gentleman  with  equally  queer 
friends  who  spent  summers  in  town  enjoying  their  own 
inexplicable  antics.  Gen.  George  L.  Beal,  of  Norway, 
once  recalled  that  when  he  was  colonel  of  the  First 
Maine  Regiment,  quartered  at  City  Point,  one  of  his 
men  remarked,  disgustedly,  to  him: 

"Colonel,  I  was  up  to  Baltimore  last  night  and  saw 
a  lot  of  posters  advertising  'A.  Ward  will  speak  a  Piece.' 
I  went  up  to  the  hall,  and  there  were  several  thousand 
people  there  who  laughed  and  shouted  fit  to  split. 
And  who  do  you  suppose  the  fellow  was  who  spoke?" 

"I  can't  imagine,"  was  the  colonel's  reply. 

"Why,  it  was  none  other  than  that  gol-darned  cuss 
of  a  Charles  Browne  we  used  to  know  up  to  Norway." 

He  was  confirmed  in  his  bachelorhood,  though  by 
no  means  averse  to  feminine  society.  "I  fall  in  love," 
he  wrote  Charles  E.  Wilson,  soon  after  reaching  New 
York,  "with  a  rapidity  that  would  be  appalling  if  I 
wasn't  so  well  acquainted  with  myself."  In  the  same 
note  he  avers  that  he  is  "straight  as  a  string"  in  his 
female  friendships. 

Writing  to  another  Charles  Brown,  of  Fort  Plain, 

[232] 


5  £     /*7  ^ 


;     / 


FACSIMILE    OF    AN    "  A.    WARD  "    LETTER 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

New  York,  who  had  evidently  been  seeking  kinship, 
under  the  date  of  June  5,  1864,  while  at  Waterford, 
he  said  this  of  himself: 

"There  is  really  nothing  very  remarkable  in  my 
history.  I  was  born  in  this  quiet  little  town  about 
twenty-eight  years  ago.  My  father  died  when  I  was 
twelve  years  old,  and  at  the  age  of  thirteen  I  entered  a 
printing-office  at  Lancaster,  New  Hampshire.  My 
father  was  a  magistrate  and  lumber  merchant — a 
clear-headed  and  thoroughly  honest  man,  so  com 
petent  in  his  business  as  to  be  consulted  on  all  kinds 
of  law  questions,  and  so  honest  that  he  invariably  had 
his  hands  full  of  business  involving  large  sums  of  money. 
I  fear  he  was  a  little  too  honest,  for  he  died  poor,  after 
all.  I  ran  away  from  the  office  at  Lancaster,  and 
entered  a  similar  establishment  at  Norway,  this  state. 
This  establishment  failed,  and  I  loamed  through  the 
state,  setting  type  a  short  time  in  one  place,  and 
quietly  running  away  to  another.  Running  away 
appears  to  have  been  my  chief  weakness  at  that  time. 
I  finally  landed  in  Boston,  and  worked  at  my  trade 
until  I  was  declared  a  tolerably  good  printer.  I  then 
went  West  and  South,  and  for  two  years  led  a  peri 
patetic  kind  of  life.  I  commenced  writing  for  a  paper 
in  Toledo,  Ohio,  about  ten  years  ago.  I  succeeded  as  a 
paragraphist  well  enough  to  achieve  a  very  good  repu 
tation,  and  moved  to  Cleveland  and  took  charge  of  the 
Plain  Dealer  newspaper.  I  here  commenced  the  Artemus 
Ward  papers.  The  selection  of  that  nom  de  plume 
was  purely  accidental.  I  wrote  the  first  Ward  sketch 
on  a  purely  local  subject,  not  supposing  I  should  ever 
write  another.  Somehow  the  name  Ward  entered  my 

17  [ 233  ] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

head  and  I  used  it.  Five  years  ago  I  moved  to  New 
York  and  assumed  the  editorial  conduct  of  Vanity  Fair, 
succeeding  Charles  G.  Leland.  For  the  past  four 
years  I  have  lectured  almost  constantly,  and  with  a 
success  that  is  perhaps  unequaled,  considering  what  a 
startling  innovation  I  have  made  on  a  long-established 
institution.  My  writings  and  lecturing  have  given 
me  a  competency.  I  have  a  liberal  offer  to  go  to  Eng 
land  this  fall  on  a  lecturing  tour,  and  I  may  accept. 
I  am  writing  now  a  book  of  travels,  giving  my  experi 
ences  among  the  Mormons.  I  live  in  New  York  City, 
although  I  spend  a  portion  of  my  summers  here  with 
my  mother.  That  is  about  all.  I  have  only  drifted 
with  the  current,  which  has  carried  me  gaily  on  of  its 
own  accord.  As  I  am  frank  enough  to  say  this,  I 
hope  I  have  a  right  to  say  that  I  have  always  meant 
the  creatures  of  my  burlesques  should  stab  Error 
and  give  Right  a  friendly  push.  You  are  at  liberty 
to  use  these  facts,  although  my  letter  is  necessarily 
written  in  a  great  hurry,  for  I  am  very  busy.  I  am 
popularly  supposed  to  be  rusticating  here,  but  it  is  a 
ghastly  mockery.  I  am  working  very  hard.  The 
sketch  in  Leslie  was  pleasantly  written  by  my  friend, 
Frank  Wood,  who  died  just  as  we  all  were  predicting 
a  brilliant  future  for  him.  I  thank  you  for  your 
friendly  letter  and  kindly  intention,  and  am  faithfully 
yours, 

"CHARLES  F.  BROWNE, 

(Artemus  Ward)." 

The  temptation  to  tease  his  practical-minded  mother 
was  seldom  resisted.     She  once  visited  Boston  under 

[234] 


MRS.    CAROLINE    E.   BROWN,   MOTHER    OF    ABTEMUS    WARD 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

the  escort  of  Horace  Maxfield.  Artemus  was  to  lecture 
and  she  was  to  hear  him  for  the  first  time.  The  old 
lady  had  a  favorite  uncle  by  the  name  of  Ransford 
Bates,  and  when  she  wished  to  give  especial  weight  to 
some  statement  she  would  add,  "My  Uncle  Ransford 
Bates  said  so."  Before  the  lecture  began  Artemus 
said  to  Maxfield:  "I  am  going  to  bring  in  'Uncle 
Ransford'  this  evening.  You  watch  mother  and  see 
her  jump."  Sure  enough,  at  the  end  of  some  shocking 
absurdity  he  added,  "I  know  it's  true,  for  my  Uncle 
Ransford  said  so."  She  "jumped"  and  never  quite 
forgave  him  for  his  irreverent  use  of  such  an  important 
authority. 

Toward  her  he  always  maintained  the  closest,  ten- 
derest  relationship.  Her  welfare  was  always  uppermost 
in  his  mind  and  he  greatly  enjoyed  her  company. 
So  intimate  were  they  that  he  never  spoke  of  her  as 
mother.  She  was  always  "Caroline"  and  he  "Charles." 
This  was  an  oddity  that  came  partly  from  his  whimsi 
cal  way  of  conversing  and  partly  because  the  pair  were 
really  more  brotherly  and  sisterly  in  their  attitude 
toward  each  other  rather  than  that  of  son  and  mother. 
She  was  sternly  practical  in  all  things,  keen  and  shrewd, 
and  yet  very  humorous  without  knowing  it.  Her 
speech  was  rapid,  and  she  talked  a  great  deal.  Noth 
ing  escaped  her  observation,  and  her  knowledge  of  lo 
cal  gossip  was  astonishingly  copious.  She  was  in  her 
seventy-fourth  year  when  I  first  came  to  know  her 
at  Waterford,  and  brisk  as  most  ladies  of  fifty.  She 
loved  to  recite  her  experiences  at  length,  with  minute 
details  of  dress  and  entertainment,  and  these  her  son 
seized  upon  with  intense  enjoyment  and  made  her  the 

[235] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

model  for  Mrs.  Betsey  Jane  Ward.  She  never  com 
prehended  the  performances  of  the  showman  and  his 
friends  who  indulged  in  high  jinks  when  they  visited 
Waterford.  To  me  she  once  described  Artemus  and 
Dan  Setchell  as  the  "two  fools." 

Mrs.  Brown  made  her  son  an  extended  visit  while 
he  lived  in  Cleveland,  and  this,  with  an  occasional 
trip  to  Boston,  marked  her  journeys  into  the  outer 
world.  For  the  rest  she  lived  and  died  in  the  house 
where  she  was  born — all  alone  up  to  the  last,  active, 
independent,  and  clear-minded  to  the  end.  The 
portrait  given  with  this  volume  was  taken  when  she 
was  entering  her  seventy-fifth  year. 

His  education  had  been  short  and  desultory.  He 
always  felt  the  lack  of  better  training  in  school,  though 
it  would  probably  have  spoiled  him.  He  once  re 
marked  that  he  had  "about  enough  education  for  a 
sign-board."  His  employment  in  printing-offices  had 
more  than  replaced  the  deficiency.  This  he  well 
knew,  and  when  instructing  the  attorney  called  to  draw 
up  his  will,  in  which  he  provided  that  George  H. 
Stephens,  his  boy  valet,  should  be  sent  to  a  printing- 
office  first  and  to  college  later,  he  said:  "In  the 
printing-office  he  will  find  the  value  of  an  education 
and  want  to  learn  when  he  gets  the  chance.  I  lost 
the  chance  before  I  felt  the  want." 

The  books  of  his  uncle's  library,  which  he  directed 
in  his  will  should  go  to  the  best  scholar  in  the  Water- 
ford  school,  were  awarded  by  the  examiners  to  Florence 
Brown,  daughter  of  his  cousin  Daniel.  She  became 
the  wife  of  the  Rev.  O.  A.  Rounds,  a  Universalist 
clergyman  of  high  standing,  and  in  an  early  widowhood 

[236] 


LETTERS    AND    FRAGMENTS 

returned  with  her  children  to  Waterford,  living  there  at 
the  present  (1919)  time. 

George  H.  Stephens,  the  young  valet,  was  educated 
under  the  terms  of  the  will.  He  later  came  to  Water- 
ford,  but  the  dull  little  village  did  not  suit  him  after 
the  lively  life  he  had  led,  and  he  finally  drifted  out 
of  sight.  My  old  friend  Charles  O.  Stickney,  local 
editor  of  the  Bridgton  News,  printed  in  a  near-by  town, 
once  asked  George  what  was  the  first  thing  Artemus 
ever  said  to  him. 

"Well,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "the  first  thing  Mr. 
Browne  ever  said  to  me  was,  'George,  bring  me  a  gin 
cocktail."5 

Despite  his  considerable  earnings,  the  gleanings 
from  his  estate  were  small.  Besides  taking  care  of 
Stephens,  the  Gerry  bequests  were  paid.  The  gold 
chain  given  him  by  the  Nevada  miners  vanished  after 
his  death,  so  did  much  jewelry,  of  which  he  was  fond. 
A  modest  house  at  Yonkers,  his  only  real  estate,  was 
rather  heavily  mortgaged.  There  was  no  trace  of 
the  large  sum  mentioned  by  Carleton  as  having  been 
in  his  possession  before  leaving  for  Liverpool.  His 
writings  were  liberally  pirated  abroad  and  in  Canada. 
Fortunately,  his  mother  owned  the  homestead  and  had 
some  means  of  her  own — perhaps  enhanced  without  rec 
ord  by  her  son,  so  that  all  her  years  were  comfortable. 

One  of  the  little  boys  who  won  the  regard  of  Artemus 
in  Waterford  was  Horace  Porter.  His  father,  Oliver 
Porter,  kept  the  old-fashioned  yellow  "general  store" 
adjacent  to  the  Brown  homestead  and  facing  the  village 
green. 

Mr.  Porter  grew  up  to  become  a  factor  in  the  develop- 

[237] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

ment  of  Lakewood,  New  Jersey,  in  company  with  his 
kinsman,  David  Porter.  To  the  boy,  the  "grown-up" 
neighbor  in  exile  wrote  a  characteristic  letter  from  the 
office  of  Vanity  Fair,  April  9,  1861,  a  contribution  long 
treasured  by  its  possessor  which  is  reproduced  here 
with  in  facsimile. 

Of  his  own  place  in  life  he  wrote  thus  soberly: 
"Humorous  writers  have  always  done  the  most 
toward  helping  virtue  on  its  pilgrimage,  and  the  truth 
has  found  more  aid  from  them  than  from  all  the  grave 
polemists  and  solid  writers  that  have  ever  spoken  or 
written.  It  was  always  so,  and  men  have  borne  battle 
for  the  right,  with  its  grave  truth  fully  in  mind,  with 
an  artillery  of  wit,  that  has  silenced  the  heavy  batteries 
of  formal  discussion.  They  have  helped  the  truth 
along  without  encumbering  it  with  themselves.  They 
have  put  it  boldly  forward  and  stood  behind  it  and 
hurled  their  fiery  javelins  at  their  opponents  till  they 
have  either  fled  ingloriously  or  been  entirely  silenced. 
Rabelais — vile  fellow  as  he  was  and  revolting  to 
modern  propriety  and  taste — did  immense  work  for 
the  reform  that  began  contemporaneously  with  him, 
and  from  Rabelais  down  the  shaft  of  ridicule  has  done 
more  than  the  cloth-yard  arrows  of  solid  argument  in 
defending  the  truth.  Those  who  bolster  up  error  and 
hate  the  truth  are  still  men  and  slow;  men  with  no  warm 
blood;  men  who  hate  levity  and  the  ebullitions  of  wit; 
who  deprecate  a  joke  of  any  kind,  and  run  mad  at  a  pun. 
Like  Dominie  Sampson,  they  can  fire  pointblank  charges, 
but  the  warfare  of  flying  artillery  annoys  them.  They 
can't  wheel  and  charge  and  fire,  and  the  attack  in  flank 
and  rear  by  the  light  troops  drives  them  to  cover." 

[238] 


©fficc  ol 

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IX 


"VANITY  FAIR"  ROMANCES  AND  OTHER  CONTRIBUTIONS 


THE  FAIR  INEZ 

OR,  THE  LONE  LADY  OF  THE  CRIMSON  CLIFFS 

A  Tale  of  the  Sea 
Edited  by  Artemus  Ward 

CHAPTER  I.— THE  "JANE  GRAY" 

MY  story  opens  off  the  coast  of  Spain,  in  the  month 
of  April,  18— . 

The  staunch  brig  Jane  Gray,  Capt.  George  Wright, 
was  riding  lazily  on  the  summer  sea,  just  enough  air 
filling  her  sails  to  keep  her  in  motion.  She  was  a  three- 
master,  clipper-built  and  sloop-rigged,  with  the  excep 
tion  that  she  carried  cross-lashings  and  stump  top 
gallants  in  place  of  head  guys  and  sheer  jiggers.  Her 
heel  tackles  were  drawn  tautly  athwartship,  but  this 
did  not  in  the  least  crowd  her  triatics  and  mizzen 
stays,  or  in  any  way  interfere  with  the  workings  of  her 
bowsprit  toggles  and  starboard  catheads,  while  her 
lee  scuppers  and  gunwales  were  thoroughly  slushed, 
giving  the  vessel  immense  advantage  over  craft  carry 
ing  simply  a  bulwark  bowse  and  jigger  jibboom,  as 
must  be  perfectly  apparent  to  all  navigators  who  have 
sailed  in  vessels  rigged  with  foretop  bowlines  and 
capstan  after-chocks.  Another  advantage  possessed 

[239] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

by  the  Jane  Gray  over  similar  craft  was  the  admirable 
manner  in  which  her  dockyard  sheers  were  guyed 
to  her  sling-fenders,  thus  giving  full  sway  to  her  bulk 
head  toplights,  no  matter  how  cantankerously  the 
gale  might  shriek. 

Captain  Wright  was  a  thorough  seaman,  but  a  man 
of  few  words.  Born  when  quite  small,  he  had  im 
mediately  commenced  a  seafaring  life,  and  although 
several  times  shipwrecked  and  twice  captured  by  the 
Onondaga  County  Indians,  his  health  was  very  good. 

As  evening  approached  there  were  cheering  indica 
tions  of  a  smacking  breeze  to  the  N.  W.  E.,  observing 
which  Captain  Wright  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the 
deck  and  in  a  calm  and  dispassionate  voice  spoke  as 
follows : 

"General  Order  510.  Luff  her!  D — n  your  eyes, 
luff  her!  Avast!"  He  then  went  up-stairs  to  bed. 

CHAPTER  II. — INEZ 

IT  becomes  necessary  for  us  to  go  back  three  years. 

It  was  a  wild  night  upon  the  coast  of  Spain. 

A  clipper  ship,  laden  with  staves  and  white  beans, 
bound  from  Oxford  County,  Maine,  to  Madrid,  had 
gone  down  near  the  Isle  of  Loneliness,  and  all  on 
board  had  perished  save  the  captain's  daughter  Inez — 
a  sweet  girl  of  seventeen  summers  and  a  like  number 
of  springs.  Throwing  herself  upon  a  piece  of  sheet 
iron,  she  had  floated  to  the  lonely  island,  upon  whose 
ocean-washed  shore  she  wandered  drearily  up  and 
down,  all  forlorn. 

The  night  was  fearful.     It  needed  only  the  thunder's 

[240] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

crash  and  the  lightning's  flash  to  make  the  effect  im 
mense;  but  the  maiden's  quick  ingenuity  overcame 
these  drawbacks,  for  by  beating  the  sheet  iron  which 
had  borne  her  to  the  shore,  and  burning  blue-and-red 
fire  in  a  small  earthen  bowl,  fine  thunder  and  middling 
lightning  were  made  to  lend  their  thrilling  grandeur 
to  the  solemn  scene. 

Placing  her  hand  upon  her  throbbing  temples,  the 
maiden  said:     "Ah,  how  these-er  rer-ocks  and  cler-iffs 


and  this  furious  stor-rum  remind  me  of  My  Happy 
Village  Home";  and  the  maiden  sang  the  popular 
ballad  of  that  name— 

"My  village  home,  my  village  home, 
My  happy  village  home," 

[2411 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

rendering  the  last  line  of  each  stanza  with  operatic 
trills,  thus : 

"Me  hap-ap  ap-hap-er  'ap-er-veel  'eel-er-age  ho-o-ro-o 


rum!"i 


"Ah,  how  sleepy  I  am!"  she  said,  pressing  her  hands 
to  her  soft,  dreamy  blue  eyes.  "Methinks  I  will  take 
a  little  slum."  So,  carefully  adjusting  her  dress,  she 
laid  down  gracefully  upon  a  green  baize  rock  and 
slept,  while  slow,  sweet  music  filled  the  air. 

Sleep  had  no  sooner  closed  her  eyelids  than  a  young 
fairy  in  a  short  gauze  dress  and  silk  tights  came  up 
through  a  trap-door  and,  waving  a  magic  wand  over  the 
slumbering  maiden,  asseverated  thus: 

"Maiden,  maiden!  feel  no  alarm, 
You'll  see  trouble,  but  you  shall  not  come  to  no  harm!" 

Uttering  which  noble  sentiments,  the  fairy  whirled 
round  several  times  for  the  purpose  of  permitting  the 
dolphins  and  sharks  to  see  how  nicely  her  dress  fitted 
her,  and  then  vanished  to  appropriate  music. 

CHAPTER  III. — AFLOAT  AGAIN 

WE  will  now  return  to  the  Jane  Gray.  That  gallant 
craft  was  gliding  gaily  o'er  the  waters  of  the  dark-blue 
sea,  her  squilgee  toggles  securely  spliced  to  her  back- 
stair  bobstays,  in  true  sailor  style. 

The  officers  had  all  retired  to  the  extreme  end  of 
the  deck  to  allow  Will  Somers,  a  gallant  jacktar,  suffi 
cient  room  to  dance  the  sailor's  hornpipe. 

The  happy  mariners,  as  is  usual  on  board  our  mer 
chantmen,  were  dressed  in  pure  white  trousers,  bright 

[242] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

morocco  shoes,  and  white  shirts,  the  bosoms  of  which 
were  neatly  embroidered  with  blue.  Wide  rolling 
collars,  black  flowing  neckerchiefs,  and  tarpaulin  hats 
completed  their  toilet. 

"Well  done,  bold  Will!"  cried  old  Jack  Ryder,  an 
ancient    seafaring    man.     "Shiver    my    timbers,    my 


hearty,  but  you're  lively  on  your  pins.  Bile  my 
lights  and  liver!  Stuff  my  gizzard  with  salt  junk! 
Avast!" 

"Spin  us  a  yarn,  old  Jack,"  cried  Charlie  Wilson, 
giving  his  trousers  a  hitch  and  taking  a  fresh  chaw  of 
tobacco. 

"Wall,  my  hearties,"  said  the  old  tar,  allowing  his 
tobacco  to  gently  slosh  round  his  mouth,  "I've  seen 

[243] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

salt  water  in  my  day,  and  d — n  all  landlubbers,  say  I. 
I'd  rather  be  a  bootblack  to  Davy  Jones  than  the 
biggest  swab  on  shore.  But  tip  us  your  ears,  my 
hearties,  and  I'll  tell  you  how  the  salt  junk  s'arved 
us  on  board  the  Pretty  Nell,  in  1842.  You  see,  my 
lads,  we  were  goin*  up  the  Mediterranean,  and  had 
been  out  about  three  months.  We  thought  the  junk 
tasted  rather  queer,  but  old  salts  Tarn  to  stow  away 
what's  put  afore  'em  without  axin'  no  questions. 
But  when  we  all  began  to  whinner;  and  found  our  ears 
growin'  long  and  floppy;  and  bushy  manes  sprang  out 
on  our  necks;  and  our  feet  commenced  turnin'  into 
hoofs;  and  we  all  hankered  for  hay  and  oats;  and  we 
couldn't  be  happy  onless  we  had  pieces  of  chain  in  our 
mouths  like  bits,  and  our  heads  didn't  feel  nat'ral 
onless  we  had  bridles  on — why,  then,  my  hearties, 
we  concluded  we'd  been  eatin*  hoss.  The  surgeon, 
Doctor  Briggs,  said  we'd  eventooally  have  to  git  our 
livin*  by  pullin'  go-carts  and  fish-wagons  if  we  didn't 
have  beef  right  away.  Beef  was  introduced  and  we 
got  over  it  to  a  certain  extent,  tho'  when  I  get  on 
shore  I  allus  steer  for  a  stable,  hitch  myself  in  a 
stall,  and  fall  to  on  the  hay.  Such  is  the  force  of 
education." 

"Wall,  pass  the  grog,  old  Jack,"  said  Tom  Clewline, 
"and  I'll  sing  you  two  verses  of  *  Three  Times  Round,' 
and  all  bear  a  hand  for  the  chorus: 

"I  have  a  mother  in  fair  London  town, 

And  this  night  she  is  weeping  for  me, 
Tho'  little  does  she  think  this  wessel  it  will  sink, 
And  go  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 

Brave  boys!" 
[244] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

Chorus:  "Then  three  times  round  went  our  gallant  ship, 

And  three  times  round  went  she, 
Three  times  round  went  our  gallant  ship 
And  she  sank  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 

Brave  boys! 

"Then  up  steps  this  gallant  Captain,  O, 

And  a  well-spoken  man  was  he, 
Says  he,  my  boys,  we  ain't  playin'  at  toys, 
We're  bound  for  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 

Brave  boys!" 

Chorus:  "Three  times  round,"  etc. 

"Bust  my  heart  and  gizzard,"  said  old  Jack,  "but 
that's  a  good  song!" 

The  crew  then  called  for  candles  and  were  shown  to 
their  rooms. 


CHAPTER  IV. — THE  CORSAIR  CHIEF 

WHEN  Inez  awoke  the  storm  had  ceased,  the  wild 
night  had  passed,  and  the  morning  was  bright  and 
beautiful. 

The  maiden  looked  around  her.  The  scene  was 
passing  strange. 

She  was  lying  upon  a  fine  twelve-dollar  lounge,  in 
an  apartment  of  sumptuous  elegance.  "Where  am  I?" 
she  murmured. 

"Safe,  dear  lady!"  said  a  soft,  flutelike  voice. 
"Safe  from  all  harm!" 

Inez  looked  up.  A  chivalrous-looking  young  man, 
arrayed  in  garments  of  red  silken  velvet,  thick-studded 
with  diamonds  of  incalculable  value,  stood  over  her— 
a  genial  smile  irradiating  his  fascinating  though  swarthy 

18  [2451 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

features.     "Safe,  lady!"  he  repeated.     "You  shall  be 
the  corsair's  bride!" 

"I  don't  see  it!"  said  the  gentle  Inez. 

"Ha!"  cried  the  pirate,  "longest  thou,  then,  for  the 


laughing  hillocks  and  bellowing  bullocks  of  thy  own 
chilly  clime?" 

"I  have  no  hesitancy  in  asserting  that  I  do,"  she 
replied. 

"If  gold  be  your  desire,"  said  the  pirate  chief,  taking 
out  his  pocketbook  and  brandishing  a  ten-dollar  bill 
on  the  Waukegan  Bank  of  Illinois,  "here  it  is!" 

"Miscreant!  I  spurn  the  vile  dross.  Besides,  there's 
ten  per  cent,  discount  on  it."  Thus  spoke  the  noble 
Inez. 

[246] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"You'll  think  better  of  it,  ere  many  wanes  have 
waxed  and  mooned,  sweet  lady,"  the  pirate  observed. 
"Listen!  I  am  a  Spaniard.  My  name  is  O'Mulligan! 
The  world  calls  me  a  pirate,  but  no  matter.  Let  that 
pass.  And  now  the  banquet.  Ho!  slaves,  bring  in 
the  victuals." 

Six  contraband  negroes,  arrayed  in  bright  yellow, 
immediately  entered,  bringing  fishballs  for  one  on 
salvers  of  solid  gold.  For  the  pirate  they  brought 
rum  and  molasses  in  a  golden  goblet. 

"Have  you  a  bill  of  fare?"  asked  Inez. 

"No  printed  ones,"  said  the  pirate.  "They  are  too 
expensive.  But  wherefore?" 

"I  was  thinking  whether  or  no  you  had  any 
beans?" 

"Pork,  but  nary  a  bean!"  said  the  corsair,  senten- 
tiously. 

With  an  aching  heart  and  a  tear-suffused  cheek, 
Inez  restricted  herself  to  the  fishballs. 

"We  corsairs,"  said  the  Spaniard,  "are  not  so  bad 
as  the  World  would  make  out." 

"It's  lately  been  merged  with  the  Courier  and  En- 
quirer"  said  Inez,  still  intently  placing  herself  outside 
the  minced  fish.  [NOTE. — Meaning  the  New  York 
World.] 

The  Spaniard,  with  a  puzzled  expression  upon  his 
face,  continued:  "We  are  loved  by  those  who  know 
us,  and  hold  many  positions  of  trust  and  influence. 
For  instance,  I  am  Street  Contractor  and  Member  of 
the  Common  Council,  while  a  brother  of  mine  is  an 
army  contractor.  How  does  that  strike  you?"  But 
the  fair  Inez  had  not  yet  recuperated  her  exhausted 

[247] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

energies,  and  a  series  of  seraphic  snores  told  the 
Spaniard  that  she  slept.  Gently  throwing  some  buffalo 
robes  over  her  fragile  form,  the  Spaniard  withdrew. 

CHAPTER  V. — THE  PIRATES'  REVEL 

O'MULLIGAN  and  his  merry  men  were  passing  the 
evening  in  a  hilarious  manner  at  the  chief's  cave, 
which  was  eligibly  located  among  the  cliffs,  and  fitted 
up  with  gas,  baths,  and  all  the  modern  improvements, 
including  the  comforts  of  a  home,  and  within  five 
minutes'  walk  of  the  depot. 

The  corsair  chief  was  in  a  festive  frame  of  mind, 
and  absorbed  his  rum  and  molasses  with  no  little 
industry  and  tenacity  of  purpose.  In  compliance 
with  a  highly  enthusiastic  call,  he  arose  and  addressed 
his  men  in  a  masterly  speech.  We  regret  that  we  only 
have  space  for  a  synopsis  of  the  eminent  speaker's 
remarks.  After  alluding  to  the  rise  and  growth  of 
affairs,  and  administering  a  withering  rebuke  to  the 
opposition,  he  said:  "Comrades!  I  am  a  Secessionist, 
and  am  for  Peace  and  two  Governments.  I  am  the 
friend  of  virtue.  Comrades!  I  am  wholly  your  own!" 
(Cries  of  "Hi!  hi!  hi!"  and  the  chief  was  instantly 
presented  with  a  gold-headed  cane  by  his  brave  fol 
lowers  as  a  slight  evidence  of  their  esteem.  The 
presentation  was  wholly  unexpected,  and  he  could 
find  no  language  in  which  to  fittingly  express  his 
emotions.) 

"Frangois,"  said  the  pirate,  "what  special  branch  of 
industry  didst  pursue  wherewithal  to  acquire  thy  hash 
and  griddle-cakes  ere  joining  our  noble  band?" 

[248] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"  I  was  a  minstrel,  my  liege,"  said  the  young  pirate. 
"I  was  an  end  man." 

"Well,  how  do  you  feel  this  evening,  Ginger?"  said 
the  chief. 

"Sillubrius!" 

"Oh  no,  Ginger,  you  mean  salubrious.  Wilt  shake 
up  a  gleesome  refrain,  my  fragile  comrade?" 

"I  will,  most  noble  duke;  but  first  I  should  like  to 
tell  some  new  gags.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the  ice 
cream  balloon,  and  I  also  wish  to  spell  stovepipe — 

"No,  no!"  said  the  chief,  excitedly,  a  gleam  of  horror 
passing  over  his  face.  "Sing  the  song!"  and  the  ex-min 
strel  sang  as  follows : 

"When  Jefferson  Davis  seseshed  and  went, 
And  wrote  his  name  as  President, 
Quoth  a  Yankee  who  the  act  did  see, 
You've  signed  your  epitaph,  Jefferson  D., 

With  your  quill  so  fine,  tra-la! 

"Look  on  this  picture,  my  bucaneer, 
A  crowd  of  people  have  come  here 
To  see  you  swing  on  the  gallows  tree, 
The  traitor's  fate,  bold  Jefferson  D.! 

With  your  quill  so  fine,  tra-la! 

*'A  thousand  seseshers  bad  and  bold 
Shall  rattle  their  chains  in  dungeons  old, 
Of  all  that  number  none  shall  'scape 
Who  led  us  into  this  wretched  scrape, 

With  their  quills  so  fine,  tra-la!" 

"Ha!"  cried  the  chief,  and  his  sword  leaped  from  its 
scabbard  and  flashed  fiercely  in  the  gaslight.  "A 
traitor-r-r-r  to  the  Confederate  Flag!  So,  so!  Hast 
prayed  to-night,  Frangois?"  said  the  chief,  gloomily 
manipulating  the  point  of  his  gleaming  blade. 

[249] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"A  few,  my  lord!"  replied  the  trembling  corsair. 

"If  you  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime,  unreconciled 
as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace,  solicit  for  it  to  onct." 

"Alas,  my  lord,  what  may  you  mean?" 

"I  would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit." 

"Talk  you  of  killing?" 

"I  have  said!" 

"Well,  I  must  be  allowed  to  say  that  you  are  pretty 
rough." 

The  unfortunate  young  pirate  was  dragged  from  the 
cave,  but,  placing  his  mouth  to  the  keyhole,  he  executed 
the  following,  in  a  disdainful,  sardonic  voice: 

"To  Miss  YANCEY  IN  PARIS 

"Miss  Yancey  she  is  handsome, 

Miss  Yancey  she  is  tall, 
And  when  she  blows  her  bugle, 
Lord,  how  the  Southrons  bawl! 

Oh,  blow  your  bugle,  Yancey, 

Oh,  go  it  while  you  may! 
You  won't  last  long,  I  fancy, 
So  throw  yourself  away. 

"Miss  Yancey  blows  a  mellow  horn, 

She's  a  dashing,  oily  wench, 

But  just  as  sure  as  you  are  born 

She  cannot  fool  the  French, 

Oh,  blow  your  bugle,  Yancey,  etc. 

"So  come  home  now,  Miss  Yancey, 
Before  you're  kicked  down-stairs. 
Your  little  horn,  I  fancy, 
Ain't  adapted  to  French  airs! 

Oh,  blow  your  bugle,  Yancey,"  etc. 

"That  young  man,"  said  the  pirate  chief,  sternly, 
"is  a  disgrace  to  his  sex  and  is  devoid  of  all  kinds  of 
noble  sentiments.  Let's  all  take  a  drink." 

[250] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"He  is  a  young  man,"  said  a  sagacious  pirate  in  a 
solemn  voice  and  with  a  look  of  intense  meaning,  "he 
is  a  young  man,  that  young  man  is,  who  is  a  young  man 
— leastways  he  is  younger  than  my  old  aunt  Sally! 
I  should  say  he  was  some  young  man,  or  at  any  rate 
he  is  some  mens — " 

"What  the  d— 1  is  the  matter  with  you?"  cried  the 
chief  in  a  voice  of  horror.  "Hang  it,  man,  you  are  no 
more  lucid  than  an  editorial  in  The  New  York  Express!" 

"I  want  some  rum  wizzout  any  war-rer  into  it!" 
exclaimed  the  pirate.  "D'ye  hear?  rum  wizzout 
war-rer.  An'  now  I'll  tell  you  'bout  the  young  man — " 

"No,  you  won't!"  said  the  chief,  hastily.  "Put 
him  to  bed.  Lift  him  up  tenderly,  handle  him  with 
care,  fashioned  so  slenderly,  young  and  so  fair!  He's 
been  drinking.  In  short,  he's  drunk." 

"Did  you  ever  know,  sir,"  said  the  inebriated  cor 
sair,  in  a  subdued,  mysterious  voice — "were  you  ever 
acquainted  with  a  red-headed  gal,  who  sold  mutton 
pies  on  a  big  tin  pan,  and  they  called  her  One-eyed  Sal? 
Where  is  she  now,  sir?  She  sleeps  'neath  the  willow!" 

"Away  with  him !"  shrieked  the  chief.  "Zounds,  men, 
are  we  fallen  to  a  state  of  gibbering  idiocy?" 

Rosy  rum,  however,  mollified  the  incensed  corsair, 
and  ere  the  revel  closed  he  sang,  in  the  mellifluous 
tongue  of  his  own  sunny  Spain,  an  ardent  song  of  love, 
accompanying  himself  on  the  Shillalah. 

CHAPTER  VI. — THE  ATTEMPTED  ESCAPE 

To  remain  with  the  pirates  was  repugnant  to  the 
feelings  of  Inez.  They  were  not  men  of  much  moral 

[251] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

principle,  and  she  resolved  to  return  to  her  native 
jungle  in  Maine.  All  right-minded  persons  will  say, 
Good  for  her. 

And  so,  one  day  when  the  corsair  chief  was  absent  on 
official  business,  the  heroic  girl  determined  to  escape. 

She  wisely  resolved  to  take  as  little  baggage  as  pos 
sible — half  a  dozen  bandboxes,  an  umbrella,  a  bottle 
of  hair-oil,  a  dressing-case,  a  gauze  nubia  and  some 
doughnuts,  a  poplin  skirt,  and  a  pair  of  point-lace 
gaiters,  a  tortoise-shell  basque,  and  a  few  back  num 
bers  of  Godey's  Lady's  Book — that  was  all.  But  even 
these  trifles  were  found  too  cumbersome  and  she  re 
solved  to  leave  with  no  other  clothing  than  her  um 
brella  and  a  straw  flat. 

Her  room  was  in  the  fifth  story  of  the  cave,  which 
was  built  of  Milwaukee  brick,  and  all  the  doors  were 
double-locked.  She  had  no  alternative,  then,  but  to 
make  her  escape  through  the  window.  She  was  forced 
to  use  the  bed-cord,  but  as  she  was  a  young  lady  of 
high  moral  principle,  she  resolved  to  send  the  corsair 
its  full  value  by  Adams'  Express,  if  she  in  the  least 
damaged  it.  Carefully  fastening  one  end  of  the  cord 
to  the  window-sill,  she  commenced  letting  herself  down. 
But  unfortunately  the  cord  broke,  shortly  after  the 
intrepid  maiden  had  commenced  her  perilous  descent 
—broke  when  she  was  high  in  the  air,  at  a  distance 
of  over  four  hundred  feet  from  the  ground!  Oh,  it  was 
frightful! 

We  cannot  here  too  strongly  urge  upon  manufacturers 
of  rope  the  necessity  of  making  it  strong.  It  may  cost 
more,  but  is  it  fair,  is  it  manly,  to  sell  rope  knowing  it 
to  be  of  flimsy  texture?  Some  may  argue  that  it  is 

[252] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

owing  to  the  poor  quality  of  hemp,  but  we  maintain 
that  manufacturers  should  give  their  personal  atten 
tion  to  the  business  and  make  good  rope. 
But  to  return  to  Inez. 


CHAPTER  VII. — THE  CRASH 

THERE  was  a  crash  and  a  stifled  shriek. 

But  Inez  lived. 

Some  agricultural  pirates,  returning  from  the  pleasant 
meadows,  whither  they  had  been  to  gather  the  sweet 
new-mown  hay,  with  a  yoke  of  speckled  oxen  and  a 
hayrick,  were  her  preservers. 

They  had  paused  upon  a  smiling  hillock  to  enjoy 
the  splendors  of  an  able  and  efficient  sunset  and  to 
let  the  oxen  rest. 

They  heard  a  sound  as  though  something  was  whiz 
zing — and  on  looking  toward  the  cave  they  saw  Inez 
falling. 

Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  Putting  spurs  to  the 
oxen,  the  pirates  careered  to  the  spot  at  a  mad  pace 
and  backed  the  cart,  which  contained  about  a  ton  of 
hay,  immediately  under  the  windows  of  the  cave.  Inez 
lit  upon  the  hay,  where  she  lay  unhurt,  although  trem 
bling  like  the  aspen  leaf. 

Thinking  herself  fatally  injured,  however,  she  raised 
herself  upon  her  right  arm,  and  requesting  the  orchestra 
to  play  up  an  appropriate  dying  air,  she  let  her  under- 
jaw  fall  and  permitted  her  eyes  to  roll  wildly.  Then 
in  a  graceful,  theatrical  manner,  she  said:  "How  cold 
it  is!  A  strange  mist  is  before  me  eyes.  I  am  dying! 
Come  hither,  Armand!  Light— light—  Me  mother!" 

[253] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

But  on  discovering  that  she  was  only  slightly  injured 
she  got  off  the  cart  and  went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VIII. — THE  CORSAIRS 

O'MuLUGAN,  weary  of  life  on  shore,  resolved  to 
put  to  sea  again.  He  had  recently  received  an  encourag 
ing  note  from  another  eminent  pirate  chief,  Captain 
Crocketto  Scovillo,  who  proposed  to  co-operate  with 
O'Mulligan  in  any  honorable  enterprise  which  promised 
to  yield  large  quantities  of  gold  plate,  bankable  funds, 
and  spoons.  Scovillo  awaited  O'Mulligan  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Maumee  River  with  a  brigade  of  negro  chamber 
maids  and  a  brass  band,  commonly  known  as  the 
Black  Horse  Cavalry.  He  had  also  a  chaplain  with  him 
named  Coe,  who  was  a  high-toned  man  and  a  pleasing 
conversationalist.  The  Emperor  of  Rahway,  Nicoli 
Speerini  I,  had  tendered  a  platoon  of  two-horse  coaches 
and  a  barrel  of  apple-jack.  There  were  also  good 
reasons  to  suppose  that  the  Camden  and  Amboy  Rail 
road  would  carry  the  pirates  at  half-price.  Every 
thing  seemed  auspicious. 

"Do  you  regard  it  as  safe  to  resume  our  noble  pro 
fession  upon  the  high  seas  at  this  particular  period, 
my  lord?"  inquired  a  cautious  corsair  named  Hoganni. 

"Perfectly  safe,"  replied  the  chief.  "No  danger  as 
long  as  Connecticut  continues  to  furnish  Secretaries 
of  the  Navy." 

"Ah,  true,"  said  the  pensive  pirate.  "All  I  want  is 
to  get  an  honest  living.  So  long  as  I  get  my  hot  dishes 
I  shall  be  happy." 

"Thou  shalt  return  some  day  to  the  bogs  of  thy  own 

[254] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

sunny  Italy,  my  faithful  Hoganni,  with  much  gold 
plate  and  many  ducats,"  said  the  chief,  smiling  approv 
ingly  upon  the  dark-eyed  Italian. 

"I'll  make  it  lively  for  the  boys  in  Cork!"  joyfully 
exclaimed  Hoganni.  This  talented  and  noble-hearted 
pirate  then  retired  for  the  purpose  of  showing  some 
relatives  from  the  country  how  to  play  marbles,  three- 
card  monte,  and  other  pleasing  games. 

A  pirate  now  entered  hastily. 

"Ha!  pampered  menial,  what  bringest  thou?"  cried 
O' Mulligan,  rising  suddenly  and  breaking  a  clay  pipe 
in  his  emotion. 

"On  yonder  hill  among  the  pine-trees  we  have  sur 
prised  an  Abolitionist.  Escape  by  flight  he  could  not, 
and  so  we  nab'd  him!" 

"Drag  him  before  me.  But  stay — didst  tar  and 
feather  the  Northern  schoolmistress,  and  hang  the 
white-chokered  miscreant  who  had  a  New  York  Tribune 
in  his  pocket?" 

"My  lord,  we  didn't  do  nothing  shorter." 

"'Tis  well.     Away!" 

The  Abolitionist  was  ushered  in.  He  stood  before 
the  chief  with  an  erect  form,  a  flashing  eye,  and  an 
unblanched  cheek.  He  said  his  name  was  Tell. 

"What!  William  Tell?  No!  How  are  you,  Bill? 
Whence  comest  thou?" 

"From  Ashtabula  County,  in  Ohio.  Our  voices  are 
for  war,  but  we  don't  care  about  fighting  ourselves. 
Our  folks  don't  think  it's  no  laughing  matter." 

"'Tis  well!"  said  O'Mulligan,  with  a  scornful  laugh; 
"I'd  have  them  as  their  hills  that  never  smile,  though 
wanton  summer  tempt  them  e'er  so  much." 

[255] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"But  we  do  sometimes  smile!" 
"Aye!  When  is  that?" 
"When  whisky  is  three  cents  a  glass." 
A  feeble  smile  lit  up  the  noble  features  of  O'Mulligan 
as  this  subtle  witticism  fell  from  the  finely  curved 
mouth  of  Tell,  and  some  pirates  commenced  applaud 
ing,  but  desisted  upon  being  told  that  the  galleries 
would  be  cleared  if  the  offense  were  repeated. 

"They  say,  fellow,  that  you  are  deeply  skilled  in 
the  use  of  firearms,  and  that  as  Captain  of  the  Home 
Guards  you  have  astonished  people  by  the  surpassing 
excellence  of  your  shots." 

"I  can  hit  a  barn  door  with  buckshot  at  a  dis 
tance  of  three  yards!"  "proudly  replied  the  bold 
mountaineer. 

"Why  don't  they  make  a  brigadier-general  of  you?" 
inquired  O'Mulligan;  but  Tell  essayed  no  reply. 

Mr.  Tell's  boy,  we  should  have  stated,  was  with 
him  at  the  time  of  his  capture,  and  at  the  suggestion 
of  Mr.  O'Mulligan  Mr.  Tell  placed  a  pumpkin  on  that 
interesting  juvenile's  head  and  fired  at  it  with  a  bow 
and  arrow,  at  a  distance  of  three  paces — the  under 
standing  being  that  if  he  didn't  hit  the  pumpkin  he  was 
to  be  killed.  This,  as  O'Mulligan  aptly  observed ,  was 
justice  tempered  with  mercy. 

Mr.  Tell  felt  very  bad  at  the  idea  of  shooting  at  his 
young  child,  but  he  was  compelled  to  do  so,  however 
much  against  his  inclination.  Who  can  describe  a 
father's  feelings  who  is  forced  to  shoot  at  a  pumpkin 
onto  his  young  boy's  head? 

Mr.  Tell  fired— the  pumpkin  rolled  off  the  child's 
head — the  child  lived! 

[256] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"You  may  return  to  Ashtabula  County,  William," 
said  the  chief,  deeply  affected;  but  wherefore  didst 
hide  that  sled-stake  under  thy  shirt-bosom?" 

"To  smash  you  in  the  snout,  tyrant,  had  I  slew'd 
my  young  boy!" 


"You  don't  say  so!"  said  the  astonished  O'Mulligan. 
"Well,  it's  a  lucky  go  for  me  that  you  didn't  hit  him. 
isn't  it?  Let  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother!" 

"Little  boy,"  said  the  sagacious  pirate,  whose  eccen 
tric  and  disreputable  conduct  we  noticed  in  our  last — 
"little  boy,  give  my  love  to  your  uncle  Timothy. 
Likewise  to  your  aunt  Betsy!  Your  aunt  Betsy  is 
older  than  you  be,  but  do  not  let  that  fact  weigh  yo" 
down  or  interrupt  your  glorious  career." 

[257] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Have  you  or  have  you  not  become  a  driveling 
idiot?"  angrily  inquired  the  chief. 

"Sir,"  said  the  sagacious  pirate,  "figgers  won't  lie, 
and  I  consider  you  a  dam'  rascal!" 

"Remove  him  at  once,"  said  O'Mulligan,  "and  don't 
let  him  get  at  the  whisky  again." 

"You  shall  be  super-super-se-(hic)-ded!  Can  you 
tell  me  why  this  lizzie  boy  is  like — " 

"Away  with  him!"  shrieked  the  chief;  "load  him 
with  chains!" 

Mr.  Tell  and  his  son  left  for  home  on  the  first  train; 
and  O'Mulligan,  sending  for  the  last  number  of  The 
New  York  News,  put  on  his  spectacles  and  sat  down 
to  the  rich  mental  banquet  which  is  always  spread 
before  the  readers  of  that  able  South  Carolina  journal. 

"This  is  a  good  paper,"  said  the  chief;  "we  must 
get  up  a  club  for  this  paper!" 

CHAPTER  IX. — AFLOAT  AGAIN 

WE  will  now  return  to  the  ocean  again. 

The  fine  brig  Jane  Gray  was  gallantly  breasting  the 
waves,  with  her  porpoise  bobstays  well  holystoned 
and  her  mizzen  marlinspikes  tautly  lashed  to  the  poop- 
deck.  Those  of  my  readers  who  have  seen  active  ser 
vice  on  shipboard  need  not  be  told  that  all  well-regu 
lated  vessels  carry  bulkhead  jiggers  as  well  as  halyard 
toggles,  and  rest  assured  the  Jane  Gray  was  not  deficient 
in  these  respects.  Indeed,  she  not  only  carried  the 
above,  but  tanrail  scuppers  and  dockyard  toplights, 
although  she  was  not  what  is  technically  termed  a 
gobline  jib-boomer. 

[258] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

Will  Somers,  the  gallant  young  tar  of  whom  we  have 
before  spoken,  was  leaning  gracefully  against  the  top 
gallant  skysail,  evidently  rapt  in  deep  meditation. 

"Avast,  there,  shipmet,"  said  old  Jack  Ryder,  who 
was  holystoning  some  grummets  near  by;  "all  in  the 
downs  again,  my  hearty? 

"I  wish  I  was  old  Stormy's  son, 

Storm  along,  Stormy! 
I'd  take  my  jacket  and  pawn  it  for  rum, 
Storm  along,  Stormy!" 

sang  the  old  tar.  "Come,  come,  Will,  think  of  old 
Stormy's  son  and  cheer  up." 

A  tear  glistened  in  William's  eye.  He  was  thinking 
of  the  fair  Inez  to  whom  he  was  betrothed,  although 
her  parents,  who  were  wealthy,  did  not  approve  of  the 
match.  They  thought  he  simply  wanted  to  marry 
her  so  as  to  get  the  property.  But  they  did  William 
great  injustice.  He  was  above  such  things.  His 
father  had  been  a  selectman  in  Stoneham  for  several 
years,  and  William  was  determined  to  keep  up  the 
reputation  of  the  family.  He  was  not  aware  of  Inez's 
captivity,  but  supposed  that  she  was  home  in  Maine. 

"All  in  the  downs  the  fleet  was  moored, 

The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind, 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  on  board, 
Saying  where  shall  I  my  true-love  find," 

sang  poor  Will,  still  sadly  leaning  against  the  top 
gallant  skysail. 

"  Sail  ho !"  cried  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"Where  away?"  asked  Captain  Wright,  seizing  an 
opera-glass  and  bringing  it  to  his  eye. 

[2591 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Two  knots  N.  W.  E.  She  flies  the  Secession 
flag!" 

"Tis  the  O'Mulligan's  fleet!"  said  the  captain. 

"We  shall  be  cut  to  pieces!"  cried  the  first  mate,  in  a 
voice  of  terror. 

"I  reckon  not,"  said  Captain  Wright,  taking  a 
grown  person's  dose  of  tobacco;  "I  reckon  not. 
There  are  no  Congressmen,  teamsters,  or  other  old 
women  on  board  to  create  a  panic,  and  I  guess  we'll 
flax  'em." 

"  Sail  ho !     Three  knots  to  the  starboard !" 

"'Tis  the  Black  Horse  Cavalry!"  cried  Captain 
Wright.  "Gentlemen,"  he  instantly  added,  in  a  cool 
voice,  "there  may  have  been  a  Bull's  Run  on  shore, 
but  there  shall  be  no  Calves'  Run  on  the  sea!  To 
your  guns!" 

O'Mulligan  stood  upon  the  poopdeck  of  his  flagship, 
his  countenance  lit  up  with  the  lurid  glare  of  corn 
whisky  and  impending  battle! 

There  was  every  prospect  of  an  altercation. 

CHAPTER  X. — THE  ENGAGEMENT 

THE  piratical  fleet  gradually  surrounded  the  Jane 
Gray. 

O'Mulligan's  object  was  to  deal  gently  with  the 
erring  Unionists. 

He  simply  desired  to  confiscate  their  ship  and  its 
cargo  and  kill  the  crew  with  masked  batteries.  If 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment  some  of  his  chivalric 
followers  should  mangle  and  cut  up  a  few  of  the  dead 

[260] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

Unionists  and  rob  them  of  their  clothes  and  watches, 
it  was  something  that  he  could  not  avert.  All  O'Mul- 
ligan  wanted  was  to  be  let  alone. 

His  men  were  all  high-toned  gentlemen,  with  original 
ideas  about  statesmanship  and  honor;  whereas  the 
Unionists  were  greasy  mechanics,  low-lived,  sniveling 
farmers,  base  laborers,  gibbering  and  puling  lovers 
of  the  aromatic  African,  d — d  mercantile  persons. 

The  idea  of  coming  in  contact  with  these  disgusting 
creatures  was  so  repugnant  to  O'Mulligan's  magnifi 
cent  mind  that  he  conceived  the  ingenious  expedient 
of  fighting  them  with  masked  batteries,  where  he 
could  not  smell  them  or  have  his  garments  soiled  by 
them,  or  breathe  an  atmosphere  made  putrid  by  their 
pestilential  breaths. 

O'Mulligan  believed  that  if  the  admission  to  heaven 
was  reduced  to  twenty-five  cents  per  head,  the  peo 
ple  of  New  England  would  want  to  pay  in  tinware  or 
produce. 

It  was  very  clear  to  the  minds  of  O'Mulligan's  men 
that  William  Lloyd  Garrison  was  King  of  Boston, 
and  that  his  subjects  secreted  fugitive  niggers  in 
Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and  went  to  the  Museum 
arrayed  in  white  chokers;  while  it  was  notorious  that 
Greeley's  sole  object  in  hurling  the  grand  Federal 
army  upon  Richmond  was  to  free  all  the  slaves,  and 
put  all  the  whites  to  death  by  sticking  red-hot  iron 
things  into  them. 

Their  newspaper  organs  teemed  with  intelligence 
of  this  pleasing  and  probable  character,  which  the 
bucaneers  swallowed  as  readily  as  they  did  their 
juleps  and  cocktails.  And  newspapers  cannot  lie,  as 

19  [261] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

those  of  my  readers  who  can  read  print  very  well 
know. 

"Pro  bono  cui  bono  et  id  omne  verbatim  ad  captan- 
dum  ad  libitum  ipse  dixit  nolle  prosequi!"  shouted 
O'Mulligan,  in  Latin,  to  the  Jane  Gray. 

"Never!"  replied  Captain  Wright  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  "Never,  sir,  while  there's  a  drop  of  blood 
in  these  veins!  I'm  no  such  a  character." 

"Bully  boy  with  the  wax  nose!"  exclaimed  a  seaman, 
delighted  at  this  unmistakable  evidence  of  stamina. 

"N'importe  blase  eau  d'vie  qui  vie  recherche!"  cried 
O'Mulligan  in  pure  Canadian  French. 

"No,  sir,  I  won't  do  that,  neither!"  replied  Captain 
Wright,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

"Swei  ine  Guttenberg  pong-bom-bum!"  said  O'Mul 
ligan,  this  time  in  the  sweet  and  dreamy  German 
tongue. 

"You  lie!"  cried  Captain  Wright;  "and  I  favor  you 
in  that  remark,  for  I  think  you'll  steal." 

O'Mulligan,  desiring  to  awe  the  base  plebeian  with 
his  scholastic  attainments,  then  addressed  him  in 
Spanish — the  stately  language  in  which  he  had  sworn 
at  his  grandmother  in  boyhood's  sunny  hours.  "Won't 
yez  be  afther  surrinderin'  the  bo-at,  yer  dirthy  spal- 
pane?" 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  was  the  graceful  reply. 

"Let  me  talk  to  that  man,"  said  the  sagacious 
pirate,  whose  disorderly  and  reprehensible  conduct  it 
has  been  our  painful  duty  to  notice  before. 

"I  think  I  can  fix  him.  I  will  dazzle  him  with  a 
magnificent  burst  of  wit — my  last  great  conundrum. 
My  Northern  seafaring  friend,  with  an  uncontrollable 

[262] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

passion  for  trading  in  apple-sass  and  tin  pots,  ahoy!" 
shrieked  the  sagacious  pirate,  mounting  the  hencoop; 
"can  you  tell  me  why — " 

"Down,,  slave!"  cried  O'Mulligan,  black  with  rage. 
"Is  this  ship  a  floating  asylum  for  idiots?" 

"Let  him  speak!"  said  all  the  men;  and  the  chief, 
fearing  mutiny  if  he  proceeded  farther,  relapsed  into  a 
state  of  scowling  silence. 

''You  can't  browbeat  me,  sir,  if  your  sister  is 
cross-eyed!"  said  the  sagacious  pirate,  with  an  air  of 
triumph. 

The  chief  recoiled  before  this  splendid  sarcasm, 
crushed  utterly  for  the  time  being.  The  sagacious 
pirate  then  proceeded  with  his  great  original  conun 
drum:  "Why  is  Jeff  Davis  when  he  rides  to  Bull 
Run  in  an  open  four  white  horse  barouche  from  Rich 
mond,  and  pauses  on  the  hillside  to  wipe  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  brow,  and  sees  the  epidemic — I  mean  the 
panic — and  laughs  in  a  sardonic  manner,  and  thinks 
he  will  soon  have  Honest  Old  Abe  in  his  clutches  where 
he  can't  tell  people  any  more  little  stories — why  is  he 
like  a  young  girl  who  attends  a  fancy-dress  funeral 
in  the  character  of  a  sylph,  and  floats  hither  and 
thither  like  some  light  gondola  in  a  sea  of  liquid  silver? 
Answer:  Because,  The  rose  that  all  are  praising  is 
not  the  rose  for  me !" 

Flushed  with  triumph,  the  sagacious  pirate  descended 
from  the  hencoop,  but  only  to  gaze  upon  a  ghastly,  a 
terrible  spectacle.  The  entire  ship's  crew  had  fainted 
long  ere  he  finished  the  great  but  subtle  conundrum, 
and  were  lying  stretched  upon  the  deck  as  though  they 
were  dead. 

[263] 


.    ARTEMUS    WARD 

"This  it  is  to  be  a  humorist!"  cried  the  sagacious 
pirate  in  tones  of  fearful  agony,  wringing  his  hands 
and  sobbing  wildly.  "Let  the  writers  for  the  comic 
monthlies  and  Sunday  papers  take  warning  by  my 
fate!" 

The  entire  fleet — for  the  crews  of  the  other  pirate 
ships  had  also  swooned — thus  became  an  easy  prize 
to  the  Jane  Gray. 

"We  must  board  you."  said  Captain  Wright,  as  he 
approached  the  flagship. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  sagacious  pirate,  "but  you 
must  find  lights." 

"I  tell  you  I  shall  board  you!"  said  Captain  Wright, 
sternly,  standing  in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 

"I  understand  you.  You  will  board  me  for  $3.50 
a  v/eek,  and  do  my  washing?  I  generally  have  about 
two  pieces  in  the  wash  per  week,  to  wit:  a  shirt  and  a 
drawer." 

Captain  Wright  staggered  wildly — he  pressed  his 
hands  to  his  burning  temples — his  eyes  glared  frenziedly 
— white  froth  stood  upon  his  lips ! 

"This  it  is  to  be  a  humorist!"  cried  the  sagacious 
pirate,  weeping  afresh. 

Captain  Wright  soon  recovered  and  boarded  the 
vessel.  The  pirates  were  put  in  chains,  and  the  fleet 
was  headed  for  the  United  States. 

The  next  day  the  pirates  waited  upon  Captain 
Wright  in  a  body. 

"What  is  all  this?"  asked  that  officer. 

"We  hear  you  are  going  to  New  York!"  said  O'Mul- 
ligan. 

"Well,  sir!" 

[264] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 


"We  are  come  to  respectfully  but  most  earnestly 
to  ask  you  not  to  go  to  New  York." 

"Why?" 

"Barnum  is  in  New  York,  sir.  We  don't  want  to  be 
exhibited  with  William  Tillman,  who  killed  three 
pirates,  sir." 

"If  he  kills  old  Barnum,  as  I  rather  suspect  he  will," 


said  the  sagacious  pirate,  "that  will  make  four  he's 
killed!" 

This  happy  conceit  pleased  the  sagacious  pirate 
and  he  smiled  sweetly.  Captain  Wright,  however, 
regarded  the  pirate's  remark  as  a  piece  of  hideous 
levity,  and  reprimanded  him  severely;  but  he  could 

[265] 


AETEMUS   WARD 

not  be  deaf  to  O'Mulligan's  touching  appeal,  and  the 
fleet  was  ordered  to  be  headed  for  New  Jersey. 

The  author  of  "The  Fair  Inez"  has  received  several 
letters,  complaining  of  what  the  writers  are  pleased  to 
term  inconsistencies  in  the  plot  and  incidents  of  this 
romance.  (One  of  these  correspondents,  who  mailed 
his  letter  in  Mississippi,  mentions  having  inclosed  a 
three-cent  piece.  The  letter  reached  me  safely,  but 
I  regret  to  say  that  the  three-cent  piece  was  absent. 
A  sad  commentary  on  the  postal  system  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.)  I  treat  these  letters  with  the  contempt 
they  so  richly  deserve.  These  correspondents  doubt 
lessly  think  they  could  write  a  better  story  than  this. 
Perhaps  they  could.  I  know  I  could,  if  I  wanted  to. 
One  correspondent — a  fellow  of  very  indifferent  char 
acter,  I  imagine — says  that  he  could  write  a  better 
story  than  "The  Fair  Inez"  with  his  hands  and  ankles 
securely  manacled,  and  have  his  meals  sent  to  him 
from  a  cheap  eating-house  at  that.  Another  fellow, 
who  is  evidently  grossly  ignorant  of  Scandinavian 
literature,  remarks  that  he  could  dip  a  molasses- 
colored  tom-cat  in  a  pan  of  ink,  and  by  "snaking" 
him  over  a  few  sheets  of  foolscap,  produce  a  much 
better  story  than  "The  Fair  Inez."  Another  fellow, 
of  brutish  instincts,  no  doubt,  wants  to  know  if  the 
author  of  this  romance  wouldn't  do  better  in  his  regu 
lar  avocation  of  shoemaking  than  in  writing  romances. 
Another  low-minded  person  begs  me  to  return  to 
Poughkeepsie,  where,  he  says,  I  was  doing  well  white 
washing  barn  doors,  and  not  seek  to  gain  a  name  by 
writing  stories.  He  also  ventures  the  assertion  that 

[266] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

Inez  is  "shaky."  These  things  do  not  disturb  me. 
Oh,  not  at  all.  It  is  ever  thus  with  genius.  Twenty 
cities  claimed  Homer  dead  through  which  the  living 
Homer  could  not  get  trusted  for  a  drink.  Nor  do  I 
forget  that  Tasso  was  refused  admittance  at  the  free 
lunches. 

But  I  have  set  these  men  who  sneer  at  my  talents 
down  as  sympathizers  with  the  South,  if  not  Seces 
sionists  outright,  and  I  want  them  to  leave  the  country, 
as  an  outraged  people  will  not  stand  this  sort  of  thing, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  will  arise  in  its  majesty  and  put 
down  this  sort  of  thing. 

CHAPTER  XI. — THE  OATH  OF  ALLEGIANCE 

AT  half-past  three  o'clock  on  the  day  of  the  naval 
engagement  so  graphically  described  in  our  last,  the 
battle  clearly  belonged  to  O'Mulligan.  At  fifteen 
minutes  to  four  o'clock,  however,  the  battle  didn't 
belong  to  him  as  much  as  it  did,  so  I  suppose  he  was 
essentially  defeated.  The  understanding  had  been 
that  Scovillo  would  arrive  at  a  certain  period  of  the 
engagement  with  a  brigade  of  negro  chambermaids, 
but  that  distinguished  corsair  had  become  so  deeply 
engrossed  with  a  game  of  draw  poker  that  he  forgot 
all  about  the  battle  until  long  after  the  eagles  of  vic 
tory  had  perched  upon  the  glittering  banners  of  the 
Unionists.  He  was  strongly  censured  for  his  conduct, 
although  he  endeavored  to  explain  by  stating  that  his 
brigade  had  only  enlisted  for  three  months,  and  that 
if  they  had  gone  into  battle  some  of  them  might  have 
been  killed.  Some  people,  however,  thought  he  ought 

[267] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

to  be  hurled  from  the  Tarpeian  Rock.  As  we  shall 
not  have  occasion  to  mention  this  pirate  again,  we  may 
here  state  that  he  was  killed  a  short  time  ago  by  acci 
dentally  falling  over  a  barrel  of  whisky  while  acting 
as  floor-manager  of  a  leap-year  ball,  given  by  some 
unmarried  squaws  of  the  Mackinaw  tribe,  of  which 
association  he  was  an  Indian  at  the  time  of  his  pre 
mature  demise. 

The  pirates  were  landed  at  Rahway,  and  took  rooms 
at  De  Graw's  Hotel.  The  emperor  of  that  town  made 
a  few  feeling  remarks  on  the  occasion,  and  the  Bard  of 
Union  County  recited  some  ingenious  verses,  bringing 
in  all  their  names.  They  were  ordered  to  bed  promptly 
at  twelve  o'clock  every  night,  that  being  the  rule  of  the 
jail,  and  were  otherwise  carefully  cared  for  and  taken 
care  of. 

The  pirates  all  said  if  they  had  known  what  fine 
people  they  had  been  killing  and  confiscating,  they 
would  never  have  gone  and  done  it,  adding  that  it  was 
impossible  to  subjugate  such  a  government.  O'Mul- 
ligan  was  stricken  with  horror  at  the  idea  of  having 
imbrued  his  hands  in  fraternal  blood,  and  remorse 
and  pip  preyed  upon  his  vitals.  The  sagacious  pirate 
was  affected  in  the  same  way.  "Why,  boys,"  said  he, 
"we've  been  fighting  our  brothers!  How  sing'lar! 
Lor' bless  me!" 

The  pirates  united  in  representing  the  rebels  as 
being  in  a  frightful  condition,  with  no  resources,  pro 
visions,  arms,  or  anything.  Besides,  there  was  a  great 
Union  sentiment  in  the  South,  particularly  in  the 
Everglades  of  Florida,  which  only  wanted  developing 
to  exhibit  itself.  O'Mulligan  thought  that  if  the 

[268] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

government  would  go  kind  of  easy  with  the  rebels  for 
a  spell,  giving  them  time  to  consider  how  wrong  it  was 
to  imbrue  their  hands  in  fraternal  blood,  they  would 
ultimately  rally  round  the  Federal  flag.  He  was 
especially  gratified  to  witness  the  efforts  of  those  pure 
patriots  who  were  endeavoring  to  establish  a  Peace 
Party  in  the  North.  Nothing,  he  said,  could  be  finer 
than  a  Peace  Party  in  the  North. 

The  corsairs  manifested  such  sincere  repentance  that 
they  were  finally  released  on  taking  the  Oath  of  Al 
legiance,  and  O'Mulligan  was  appointed  a  quarter 
master  in  the  Federal  army.  Others  of  the  pirates 
became  army  contractors,  the  army  overcoat  and 
pantaloons  business  affording  ample  scope  for  their 
peculiar  line  of  genius.  One  pirate,  with  a  diplomatic 
turn  of  mind,  was  despatched  to  Portugal  to  keep 
Harvey  straight;  another  joined  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  at  Baltimore;  and  several  others 
received  clerkships  in  the  various  departments  at 
Washington. 

Thus  the  mists  are  rapidly  rising  from  the  marshes 
of  this  Romance,  for  this  Romance  has  mists  and 
marshes  as  well  as  that  other  story  which  is  now  attract 
ing  some  attention  in  literary  circles — I  allude  to  "Great 
Fluctuations"  by  my  friend  and  fellow-companion  in 
the  rosy  walks  of  first-class  literature,  C.  D.  of  Gad's 
Hill.  While  I  would  institute  no  invidious  compari 
son,  I  may  still  be  permitted  to  submit  that  my  story 
is  Mistier  and  Marshier  than  his.  I  will  bet  five  dol 
lars  it  is,  anyhow. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  all  of  us — 
Dickens,  Bulwer,  Old  Thack,  and  the  rest  of  us — have 

1 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

no  idea  of  what  we  are  going  to  write  about  when  we 
commence  our  novels,  and  it  frequently  occurs  that 
we  don't  know  what  we  are  writing  about  after  we 
have  commenced  them.  These  are  peculiarities  of 
eminent  authorship,  and  should  excite  no  astonishment 
in  any  well-regulated  mind. 

CHAPTER  XII. — INEZ 

WE  will  now  return  to  Inez.  As  soon  as  O'Mulli- 
gan  had  got  well  to  sea,  that  fair  young  creature 
resolved  to  make  her  escape.  She  accordingly  raised 
a  window  on  the  ground  floor  and  got  out.  Then 
walking  quietly  to  the  depot  she  bought  a  ticket  and 
went  home  in  the  cars.  Her  escape  was  consummately 
managed  and  reflected  great  credit  upon  her  shrewd 
ness  and  intrepidity.  She  did  not  get  out  with  other 
passengers  at  the  railway  eating-houses  for  her  meals, 
preferring  to  die  a  natural  death. 

Majestic  scenery  abounded  along  the  route  she  had 
wisely  chosen,  and  she  could  not  but  notice  how 
assiduously  the  gentlemanly  conductor,  the  indefati 
gable  brakesman,  the  efficient  engineer,  and  the  urbane 
switchman  performed  their  respective  duties.  It  was 
the  Broad  Gauge  route,  and  connected  with  steam 
boats  for  Slinkersville. 

Her  mother  was  glad  to  see  her  (her  father,  it  will  be 
remembered,  met  a  watery  grave  by  being  drowned 
in  the  first  chapter  of  this  story),  and  the  neighbors 
wanted  to  know  "how  much  money  she  had  laid  up 
for  a  rainy  day." 

"Dear  mother,"  said  the  fair  Inez,  "I  know  your 

[270] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

heart  must  bleed  to  see  me  come  home  without 
father!" 

"Well,  yes!  rather.  But  he  was  awful  on  slapjacks? 
He'd  eat  forty  on  'em  at  a  single  meal.  But,  poor  man ! 
he's  eaten  his  last  slapjack!  Not  another  solitary 
slapjack  will  that  poor  drowned  man  never  eat!"  A 
tear  glistened  in  the  worthy  widow's  eye  as  she  spoke. 

"Pity  he  could  not  have  died  at  home,"  said  Inez, 
"in  his  bed,  surrounded  by  kind  friends." 

"If  he  had,"  replied  the  affectionate  widow,  "we 
would  have  got  up  a  gay  old  funeral  for  him,  I  tell  you !" 

Weeks  and  months  went  by  on  leaden  wings.  Where 
was  Will  Somers,  the  gallant  sailor-boy?  "Is  my 
William  true?"  she  asked  herself  one  day. 

"He  is!  he  is!"  cried  a  voice,  and  the  young  tar  stood 
before  her. 

"Weelyum!"  cried  she. 

"Inez!"  cried  he. 

And  they  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  which 
it  is  a  fine  thing  to  do,  my  young  readers. 

"Well,  if  this  ain't  the  crowner!"  said  the  maiden's 
maternal  parent,  entering  the  room.  "I  was  never 
so  struck  up  in  a  heap  in  my  nat'ral  born  days- 
faithful!  Got  any  property,  William?  Got  a  thousand 
dollars?" 

"There  is  the  sum  twice  told!"  cried  William,  casting 
a  hefty  purse  of  gold  upon  the  floor.  "Blush  not  to 
take  it.  There's  not  a  coin  that  is  not  bought  and 
hallo w'd  in  the  merchant  marine  service,  reefing  fore 
castles,  splicing  bulkhead  jib-booms,  and  in  the  per 
formance  of  other  labor  incident  to  a  maritime  pursuit!" 

[271] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

"All  right,"  replied  the  maternal  parent.  "You 
may  get  married  right  away.  Quicker  the  better." 

The  wedding-day  came.  The  village  bells  pealed 
merrily.  The  white-haired  old  clergyman  and  the 
invited  guests  had  all  congregated,  when  a  chariot, 
drawn  by  four  faithful  trotting-horses  and  driven  by 
an  honest  horseman  from  the  Union  Course,  Long 
Island,  stopped  suddenly  at  the  door.  The  chariot 
contained  O'Mulligan  and  the  sagacious  pirate!  It 
did,  upon  my  honor. 

"Good  people,  make  way!"  said  the  sagacious 
pirate,  brandishing  a  gold-headed  club.  "Room  for 
his  Imperial  Highness  Patricko  O'Mulligan,  Lord  of 
the  Swell-heads,  King  of  Canal  Street,  Grand  Fiduciary 
of  the  Bankrupt  Soap-boilers!  Lo!  a  great  man 
cometh.  Stag  his  nibs!" 

"Silence,  fool!"  cried  O'Mulligan.  "My  brave 
young  sailor,"  he  said,  in  a  sweet  voice,  "I  give  her  to 
you!  Take  her  and  be  happy!  Go  to  your  William, 
Inez!"  Then  placing  his  hands  upon  their  heads,  he 
said,  in  a  voice  choked  with  deep  emotion  and  whisky 
straight,  "Bless  you,  my  children!  bless  you!" 

It  was  very  affecting,  though  William  and  Inez 
were  at  a  loss  to  precisely  see  what  the  reformed  pirate 
had  to  do  about  it. 

"And  now,"  cried  the  sagacious  pirate,  running  his 
fingers  wildly  through  his  hair  and  throwing  his  coat 
far  back  upon  his  shoulders — "now  comes  the  touch- 
ingest  scene  of  all!  Inez!  Inez!  I  now  throw  off  the 
mask,  worn  so  many  years!  I  now  reveal  myself." 
Then  seizing  her  frantically  by  the  hand,  he  said,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  "You  had  a  grandfather?" 

[272] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"I  did,  I  did!     But  he  is  dead." 

"No,  no!  not  dead,  but  lives — lives,  Inez,  to  enliven 
this  festive  scene  with  his  brilliant  presence,  and  to 
bless  you  on  this  auspicious  day!  I  am  he!  I  am 
your  long  lost  grandfather!  Come  to  my  arms!" 

She  wept  upon  his  bosom. 


"Stop!"  said  the  maiden's  maternal  parent.  "How 
old  be  you,  sir?" 

"Eighteen,"  replied  the  sagacious  pirate. 

"Ah,  ha!  ho,  ho!"  said  the  maternal  parent,  "now 
I've  got  you!  Inez  is  nineteen  herself!  You  can't 
come  no  grandfather  dodge  over  on  us.  You  are  a 
impostuier !" 

"Well,"  said  the  sagacious  pirate,  going  up  to  third 

[273] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

right  entrance  and  biting  his  nails  in  a  puzzled  manner, 
"there  is  evidently  a  mistake  here.  But/'  he  added, 
again  embracing  Inez  with  much  fervor,  "let  me  be 
your  adopted  grandfather!" 

"No,  sir,"  exclaimed  Inez,  "not  any  adopted  grand 
father  for  me.  I  want  a  good  square  American  grand 
father  or  none.  That's  my  style!" 

"Well,  let  it  pass!"  said  the  sagacious  pirate.  "Give 
us  some  rum  and  we'll  call  it  square." 

The  reformed  pirates  drank  heartily.  O'Mulligan 
favored  the  company  with  a  ballad,  Mr.  Dixie  of  San- 
ford's  Opera  Troupe  playing  an  accompaniment  on  the 
"bones";  he  again  blessed  the  happy  couple,  and 
then  rode  away  with  the  sagacious  pirate — the  latter 
informing  the  company  of  his  address  in  case  they 
should  ever  require  a  grandfather  or  adopted  relatives 
of  any  kind. 

CHAPTER  XIII. — AND  LAST 

BEFORE  closing  this  romance,  which  has  cost  me 
many  sleepless  nights  and  much  racking  of  the  brain, 
it  is  my  unpleasant  duty  to  inform  the  reader  that  the 
artist  who  has  attempted  to  illustrate  my  story  is  a 
serpent!  He  is  not  only  a  serpent,  but  he  lives  in 
New  Jersey.  He  has  turned  the  whole  thing  into  a 
farce,  and  by  his  gross  caricatures  has  utterly  destroyed 
the  effect  of  many  of  my  most  beautiful  and  touching 
passages.  For  instance,  William  Somers,  a  young  and 
dashing  sailor,  the  lover  of  the  piece,  and  subsequently 
the  husband  of  Inez,  is  represented  in  the  cut  herewith 
presented  (I  only  noticed  it  just  as  the  paper  was  going 

[274] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

to  press,  when  it  was  impossible  to  take  the  cut  from 
the  "forms")  as  a  corpulent,  bald-headed  man,  at 
least  fifty  years  old!  The  fellow  says  he  knew  a  man 
named  Bill  Somers,  out  in  Illinois,  several  years  ago, 
and  that  this  is  the  same  man!  He  says  he  knows 

that  man  a sight  better  than  I  do!  I  speak  of 

this  unscrupulous  artist,  who  is  doing  his  utmost  to 
crush  me,  with  mingled  indignation  and  disgust,  but 
out  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of  the  people  who  board 
him  I  refrain  from  mentioning  his  name.  A  favorite 
"game"  of  his  is  to  pick  out  some  really  fine-looking 
man  and  by  going  through  some  infamous  sculping 
process  present  him  in  this  paper  with  his  elegant  and 
winning  features  distorted  in  the  most  fearful  manner. 
I  have  lost  all  patience  with  this  base  man,  and  wish 
he  would  give  up  sculping  and  stay  on  his  farm  out  in 
New  Jersey. 

Inez  and  William  were  married  and  lived  long  and 
happily  together.  Their  union  was  blessed  with 
children.  They  now  have  sixteen — dear  little  prat 
tlers,  who  are  a  great  consolation  to  their  bereaved 
parents.  The  mother  of  Inez  died  in  the  course  of 
time,  making  a  touching  allusion  to  her  lamented 
husband's  fondness  for  slapjacks  just  ere  she  died. 

O' Mulligan  naturally  went  to  practising  law  after 
the  declaration  of  peace.  He  is  doing  well. 

The  sagacious  pirate  became  a  showman  and  traveled 
as  the  "Bearded  Woman"  for  several  years  with  great 
success,  occasionally  introducing  himself  as  an  only  son 
of  the  Siamese  Twins,  and  also  as  a  reformed  drunkard. 

Hoganni  started  an  opposition  post-office  in  a 
Western  city,  and  by  selling  postage  stamps  at  a  great 

[275] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

discount  he  secured  a  large  trade  and  ultimately  ran 
the  regular  post-office  out  of  town.  He  sells  three- 
cent  stamps  for  two  cents,  making  a  still  greater 
reduction  where  people  buy  by  the  wholesale. 

Doctor  Briggs  is  a  dentist  at  Moosup,  Connecticut, 
and  is  a  fine  operator  upon  human  gums. 

Mr.  Coe  unintentionally  dislocated  his  neck,  a  few 
years  since,  by  falling  from  a  scaffold  in  Illinois,  a  rope 
being  twined  about  his  neck  at  the  time.  There  was 
a  large  crowd  present,  including  the  Sheriff  of  the 
County. 

Charles  Wilson  is  publishing  a  paper  in  Waterford, 
Maine,  having  more  subscribers  than  he  knows  what 
to  do  with. 

Old  Jack  Ryder  renounced  the  sea  and  accepted  a 
professorship  in  Oberlin  College.  He  also  conducts  a 
concert-hall  in  that  place,  refreshments  being  handed 
round  by  beautiful  Moorish  maidens. 

All  the  other  characters  of  this  romance  are  doing 
well,  and  so  I  leave  them  in  the  sunshine  of  their 
prosperity. 

Gentle  reader,  has  not  my  story  a  moral?  Do  you 
not  see  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy,  and  that  pro 
crastination  is  the  thief  of  time?  Is  not  virtue  its  own 
reward,  and  should  we  despise  a  man  who  wears  a 
ragged  coat?  Dress  does  not  make  the  man,  and 
try  and  lay  up  something  for  a  rainy  day.  Live 
within  your  means!  Pay  your  debts,  and  remember 
that  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift.  If  you  would  thrive 
rise  at  five.  Subscribe  for  your  county  paper! 

Gentle  reader,  my  story  is  done.  It  is  hard  to  part, 
but  try  and  bear  up  under  it.  Farewell,  farewell! 

[276] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 
WOSHY-BOSHY 

OR 

THE  PRESTIDIGITATING  SQUAW  OF  THE  SNAKEHEADS 

CHAPTER  I 

THERE  once  existed  a  powerful  nation  of  Indians, 
and  they  were  known  as  the  Silvertoes  and  Snake- 
heads. 

They  lived  in  a  vast  and  beautiful  land,  which 
abounded  in  the  most  delicious  game.  The  lakes  and 
rivers  likewise  teemed  with  the  daintiest  fish;  and  the 
rich  skins  of  the  deer  and  gray-fox  were  plenty  in 
almost  every  wigwam. 

These  Indians  thrived  apace.  They  grew  so  power 
ful,  indeed,  that  other  nations  thought  it  quite  judi 
cious  to  treat  them  with  considerable  urbanity.  Their 
flag  was  respected  everywhere,  and  in  whatever  clime 
one  of  them  might  be,  he  had  only  to  announce  his 
nationality  and  he  could  obtain  all  the  fire-water  he 
wanted  on  time,  if  he  were  hard  up. 

But  after  basking  many  years  in  the  warm  sunshine 
of  prosperity  these  Indians  became  uneasy  and  began 
to  indicate  a  sad  but  unmistakable  desire  to  fly  off  the 
handle.  The  Snakeheads,  who  had  labored  unceas 
ingly  to  erect  this  row,  being  considerably  aided  and 
abetted  by  a  few  incendiary  Silvertoes,  finally  made 
a  bold  attempt  to  dissolve  the  nation  and  go  to  keeping 
house  on  their  own  hook.  Personally  the  Silvertoes 
didn't  care  the  impious  expletive  of  a  peripatetic 
repairer  of  damaged  tin  about  the  simple  secession 

20  [ 277 ] 


ARTEMUS   WARD 

of  the  Snakeheads,  as  those  savages  had  been  an  exten 
sive  nuisance  for  many  moons;  but  when  those  savages 
not  only  insisted  upon  going  to  housekeeping  upon 
their  own  hook,  but  on  stocking  their  pantry  with  fine 
plate  belonging  to  the  Silvertoes,  and  filling  their 
cellar  with  much  fat  bear  meat,  also  belonging  to  the 
Silvertoes,  and  then  had  the  inflated  cheek  to  ask  to 
be  let  alone,  the  Silvertoes  ventured  to  remonstrate. 
A  struggle  ensued.  It  is  of  the  time  in  which  that 
struggle  occurred  that  we  write. 

CHAPTER  II 

IN  the  heart  of  the  trackless  wilderness  stood  the 
wigwam  of  Woshy-Boshy,  a  chief  in  high  repute  among 
the  Snakeheads. 

On  the  evening  we  introduce  him  to  our  readers  he 
lay  stretched  upon  a  dried  buffalo-skin,  smoking  one  of 
Shanly's  brierwood  pipes,  and  conversing  with  a  brave 
from  across  the  blue  waters  of  the  Shaggonana  River, 
named  Boozy  woozy. 

Boozywoozy  was  an  orator  of  rare  power,  and  his 
remarks  were  always  able  and  appropriate. 

He  also  played  policy,  his  favorite  numbers  being 
4,  11,  44.  An  adept  at  this  pleasing  game,  he  won 
many  ducats,  Hards,  pistoles,  francs,  and  slums. 

He  inclined  favorably  to  fire-water,  but  had  never 
been  attacked  with  delirium  tremens.  The  complaint 
had  broken  out  in  his  family,  but  the  family  was  a  large 
one,  and  there  were  not  tremens  enough  to  go  round. 

So  he  drank  with  impunity — or  with  anybody  else 
who  would  treat. 

[278] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"Will  the  warrior  of  many  a  wordy  victory,  whose 
voice  is  sweeter  far  than  the  pellucid  waters  of  the  fast- 
rolling  Shaggonana,  join  Woshy-Boshy  in  a  light  bowl?" 
Thus  spoke  the  Chief  Woshy-Boshy. 

"The  words  of  the  mighty  chief  fall  pleasantly  upon 


the  ears  of  Boozywoozy.  He  will  moisten  his  dia 
phragm.  Is  it  whisky?" 

"Brother,  it  is." 

"Did  the  great  chief  obtain  it  at  any  of  the  barrooms 
of  any  of  the  leading  hotels  on  Broadway?" 

"No,  no!"  howled  the  chief,  a  shade  of  horror  creep 
ing  over  his  face.  "Does  my  brother  of  the  sweet  voice 
and  winsome  eye  take  me  for  an  aboriginal  Borgia? 
Ugh!  When  Woshy-Boshy  kills  thee  it  shall  be  with 

[279] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

the  tomahawk!    No  gentlemanly  Indian  will  give  a 
friend  poison." 

"Woshy-Boshy  speaks  well.     Here's  luck!" 

And  they  clinked  the  canakin. 

During  the  evening  they  performed  the  Green  Corn 
Dance,  procuring  the  corn  for  that  purpose  from  the 
shrill-voiced  Ethiopian  Females  who  perambulated  the 
forest,  shrieking,  "Hot  cor-run!  'Ere's  yer  nice  hot 
cor-run !" 

After  dancing  a  good  deal  and  clinking  the  canakin 
many  times,  Woshy-Boshy  and  the  orator  put  on  their 
yellow  blankets  and  bright-beaded  moccasins,  prepara 
tory  for  a  stroll. 

Previous  to  leaving  the  wigwam,  however,  Woshy- 
Boshy  turned  off  the  gas,  as  a  matter  of  economy, 
and  arranged  the  chairs  in  an  orderly  manner,  so  that 
in  case  his  legs  were  ill  on  his  return,  he  would  have 
clear  sailing  to  his  bed. 

Relighting  their  brierwoods.  the  Indians  then  went 
forth,  arm  in  arm,  singing: 

"Then  let  the  wide  wona  wag  as  it  will, 
I'll  be  gay  and  happy  still; 
Gay  and  happy — gay  and  happy, 
I'll  be  gay  and  happy  still!" 

CHAPTER  III 

WOSHY-BOSHY  was  about  two  hundred  and  forty 
years  old,  but  his  mind  was  unimpaired.  He  was  as 
vigorous  mentally  as  he  had  been  a  hundred  and 
seventy-six  years  before. 

There  was  a  touching  pathos  about  many  of  this 
savage's  speeches. 

[  280  ] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

Meeting  a  party  of  white  emigrants  on  the  plains 
one  day,  he  said:  "Brothers!  the  red  man  welcomes 
you  to  the  wild  hunting-grounds  of  the  West.  The 
pale  face  will  some  day  drive  us  from  here.  How  is 
our  Great  Father  at  Washington?  I  belong  to  a  race 
that  is  fast  becoming  extinct.  Is  there  any  whisky 
or  red  pocket  handkerchiefs  in  the  party?" 

Bursting  into  tears,  Woshy-Boshy  then  scalped  the 
emigrants,  took  their  money  and  handkerchiefs,  and 
fled  to  the  primeval  forest  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

He  was  of  good  blood.  His  father  had  been  a  red 
man  of  gorilla  proclivities,  and  had  attained  consider 
able  local  celebrity  as  a  strangler  of  estray  Mokes. 

Woshy-Boshy,  however,  rather  inclined  to  canni 
balism. 

He  had  in  his  childhood  slain  and  eaten  his  grand 
mother,  and  he  ever  after  alluded  to  her,  with  a  depth 
of  feeling  which  did  credit  alike  to  his  head  and  heart, 
as  "a  sweet  woman,"  a  tear  glistening  in  his  sorrel  eye 
the  while  he  spoke. 

"I  wish  there  had  been  more  of  her,"  he  one  day 
said,  while  in  a  playful  mood.  "Grandmother  on  the 
half-shell  is  good." 

He  had  a  keen  appreciation  of  humor. 

His  temperament  was  atrabilious,  with  a  marked 
tendency  to  etherealosity,  but  he  was  a  hearty  eater, 
and  rose  at  five;  and  although  sometimes  exhibiting 
flippancy  in  his  converse,  he  was  not  knock-kneed  or 
cross-eyed. 

In  battle  he  shone  with  marvelous  luster — like  a 
coal-oil  lamp,  I  may  say. 

Mounted  in  a  trotting-sulky  and  driving  a  pair  of 

[281] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

somber  mules  tandem,  he  would  drive  furiously  around 
in  the  rear  of  his  warriors,  and  order  them  on,  and  then 
he  would  drive  home  and  have  his  mules  put  up, 
leaving  his  warriors  to  on. 

One  night  as  he  sat  in  his  wigwam,  smoking  another 
of  Shanly's  brierwood  pipes  and  discussing  the  Mor- 
rill  tariff  with  Mullen  the  artist,  he  heard  a  horse-rail 
road  car  stop  in  front  of  his  wigwam;  and  directly 
there  entered,  in  hot  haste,  a  youthful  Snakehead. 

"How  now,  good  Wo-no-she?  Comes  the  eagle- 
eyed  brave  with  good  tidings?" 

"Woshy-Boshy!  listen  to  Wo-no-she.  My  eye 
ain't  so  eagle  as  it  was!  The  Silvertoes  have  beat  us 
in  a  fight  and  captured  sixteen  of  our  braves.  They 
are  now  in  Fort  Lafayette." 

"Ha!"  cried  the  chief,  a  sweet  smile  lighting  up  his 
bay  countenance,  "that's  good!  They'll  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance  in  a  few  days  and  get  out,  possibly  bring 
ing  away  some  of  the  spoons  with  them.  If  they  don't 
escape  in  this  way  we  must  smuggle  some  wash-tubs 
into  their  cells.  The  wash-tub  business  has  only  been 
done  once,  and  I  regard  it  as  a  rather  large  thing." 

"They  shall  be  free!"  cried  Wo-no-she,  his  knife 
leaping  from  his  belt  as  he  spoke;  "Wo-no-she  swears 
it!" 

"Hunky  boy!"  said  Woshy-Boshy. 

"When  will  you  have  a  battle?"  inquired  a  gentle 
man  named  Etynge,  artist  of  an  illustrated  paper. 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  know,"  said  Woshy-Boshy, 
placing  his  forefinger  thoughtfully  upon  his  forehead. 
"When  does  your  next  paper  come  out?" 

"In  about  two  days." 

[282] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"Well,  we'll  get  you  up  a  gallant  skirmish  this  eve 
ning,  and  perhaps  a  total  rout  of  the  enemy.  But  a 
gallant  skirmish  sure.  The  pictorial  papers  must  be 
encouraged." 

"Then  I  will  go  to  work  on  my  sketches  at  once," 
remarked  the  artist. 

"All  right.  But  in  whatever  position  you  sculp 
me,  be  sure  and  give  me  a  fierce  nostril!" 

"A  picture  of  a  battle,  with  red  blood,  would  be  a 
fine  thing,"  remarked  a  savage  with  a  dapple-gray 
countenance. 

"It  would  indeed!"  said  Woshy-Boshy.  "But  we 
cannot  force  Art.  Art  must  take  her  time.  And 
indeed  Art  has  made  rapid  progress.  Already  it 
enables  the  skilful  draftsman  to  vividly  sketch  a 
battle  several  days  before  it  occurs!  Bully  for  Art, 
says  Woshy-Boshy!" 

"Bully  for  all!"  cried  the  dapple-gray  savage. 

"Which  reminds  me  of  my  new  ballad,"  said  Woshy- 
Boshy.  "I  will  sing  it.  You  have  a  great  treat  before 
you. 

"I'll  sing  to  you  a  bully  good  song, 

Bully  aborigines,  bully  aborigines! 
Join  in  the  chorus  and  help  it  along, 
Stewed  peas,  stewed  peas!" 

"Isn't  'stewed  peas'  rather  far-fetched?"  inquired  a 
tall-complexioned  savage.  "Don't  you  think  it  mars 
the  rhythm?" 

"Not  at  all,  sir.  I  wrote  it  in  the  iambic  measure. 
Don't  rouse  me  to  anger,  if  you  please,  sir!"  returned 
the  chief,  sternly.  He,  however,  composed  himself  and 
proceeded  with  his  composition: 

[2831 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"We're  bully  boys  with  copper  skins, 

Bully  for  all,  bully  for  all! 
And  we'll  knock  the  Silvertoes  off  their  pins, 
Previous  to  next  fall,  previous  to  next  fall!" 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  ballad  the  savages  joined 
in  an  Ethiopian  walk-round  and  dance,  Woshy-Boshy 
"patting"  with  all  the  vigor  of  a  young  man  of  ninety. 
Nobody  who  saw  him  "pat"  would  for  a  moment  think 
that  his  mind  was  impaired. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WINONA  was  the  daughter  of  Boozywoozy,  and  she 
was  young,  fair,  and  frisky. 

Her  beauty  was  of  the  Andalusian,  or  South  Amboy, 
type. 

She  was  a  coquette,  and  derived  much  pleasure  in 
stringing  the  susceptible  young  braves  of  the  tribe. 

If  a  young  Snakehead  refused  bear  meat  or  de 
clined  joining  in  the  exhilarating  and  genial  pleasures 
of  the  chase,  his  parents  knew  too  well  that  it  was  all 
owing  to  Winona. 

She  was  marvelously  fascinating,  and  could  make 
the  most  obdurate  aborigine  love  her  distractedly  by 
simply  fastening  her  brilliant  black  eyes  upon  him. 
Hence  she  was  called  the  Prestidigitating  Squaw  of  the 
Snakesheads. 

All  parents  told  their  sons  to  keep  away  from  the 
Prestidigitateuress,  and  therefore  they  of  course  didn't. 

Her  tastes  were  sumptuous.  She  always  wanted 
something  new  and  nice.  In  this  respect  she  was  dif 
ferent  from  most  young  ladies.  She  was  an  incessant 

[284] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

and  most  discouraging  drain  upon  the  money-pouch  of 
her  father,  the  sweet-voiced  Boozy  woozy. 

Sometimes  he  would  "put  his  foot  down"  and  say 
she  should  not  have  another  single  dress. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  United  States  mint,  girl?" 
he  would  say,  angrily  casting  her  from  him.  But 
she  would  go  behind  his  chair  and  softly  caress  his 
horse-tail  locks.  Then  placing  her  fair,  fresh  face 
against  his,  she  would  say,  "Don't  be  a  cross  Injin, 
papa,  be  a  good  Injin!"  And  the  old  man's  face  would 
soften  and  he  would  say,  "Well,  well,  girl,  go  and  buy 
what  you  want,  but  don't  be  extravagant." 

There  is  some  human  nature  in  fathers,  after  all; 
and  when  a  fair  young  girl  presses  her  face  to  that  of 
the  author  of  her  being,  the  effect  is  most  always 
soothing.  And  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  when  she  acts 
in  this  way  toward  a  young  man,  even  though  he  be 
not  related  to  her  at  all,  the  effect  is  more  soothing. 
We  cannot  undertake  to  explain  why  this  is  so. 

One  afternoon  as  Boozywoozy  and  Winona  sat  in 
their  wigwam  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Woshy-Boshy 
was  announced. 

"Hail,  great  chief!"  cried  Boozywoozy,  rising  and 
blowing  his  nose. 

"Woshy-Boshy  salutes  you;  likewise  the  Lily  of  the 
primeval  forest!  Got  any  licker?"  Thus  spoke  the 
illustrious  chief. 

"Great  person!  there's  whisky  in  the  jug!  Winona, 
bring  hither  the  Mountain  Dew." 

"Father!  I  fly,"  said  Winona,  and  in  a  moment  she 
reappeared  with  a  comfortably  sized  keg  ingeniously 
balanced  upon  her  fair  right  shoulder. 

[285] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Prettiest  waiter-girl  in  the  city!"  said  Woshy- 
Boshy,  placing  the  keg  to  his  expressive  lips. 

"Been  to  the  capital,  I  understand?"  said  Boozy- 
woozy. 

"I  have.  I  went  to  introduce  my  new  cannon,  which, 
as  you  are  aware,  can  shoot  a  double-breasted  colum- 
biad  into  the  middle  of  next  week,  and  snuff  a  gas- 
jet  at  four  hundred  paces." 

"Well!" 

"The  head  of  the  Ordnance  Department  wrote  me 
briefly  thus,  'Hain't  no  time!'  and  I  came  away.  The 
Ordnance  Department  is  in  the  hands  of  young,  roister 
ing  fellows,  who  only  came  in  in  1808,  and  until  they 
get  some  old,  experienced  men  there  I'm  afraid  things 
will  go  wrong.  They  want  a  man  who  is  about  two 
hundred  and  sixty-seven  years  of  age.  A  gifted  dotard, 
for  instance,  who  has  experience  in  driveling." 

"You  have  thirty  wives,  you  are  a  kind  husband, 
a  numerous  father,  and  an  exemplary  citizen.  I  am 
surprised  that  they  repulsed  you.  I  am  grieved,  too. 
Listen  to  these  tears!"  said  Boozy  woozy,  as  his  sobs 
rattled  upon  the  wigwam  floor. 

"I  doth!  I  doth!"  cried  the  chief;  "not  a  solitary 
sob  escapes  me — not  a  sob.  By  the  way,"  he  added, 
"Lynch  ran  well  for  Sheriff  in  New  York,  didn't 
he?" 

"Lynch  always  runs  well,"  said  Boozy  woozy.  "He's 
used  to  it." 

The  savages  went  out,  and  hailing  an  omnibus,  they 
drove  to  the  camp. 

"Advance  and  give  the  countersign  and  I'll  shoot 
you !"  said  the  sentry. 

[286] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"The  d — 1  you  will!"  replied  Boozy  woozy,  starting 
back.  "Here's  a  sentry  for  you!  You'd  better  desert 
and  join  the  Silvertoes.  They'd  make  a  brigadier  of 
you!"  Then  withering  the  ignorant  subordinate  with 
a  frown,  Woshy-Boshy  and  Boozywoozy  walked  within 
the  lines.  Passing  the  guard-house  they  could  not  help 
overhearing  the  following  song,  which  was  executed 
in  a  riotous  sort  of  voice,  by  an  insubordinate  private 
named  Smiggy  McGural,  to  the  air  of  "Pretty  Katy 
Ryan,  O!" 

"It  was  whin  grate  Gineral  Price  led  his  ahrrmy  in  Missouri, 
With   his   dhrums,   an'   his   bayonets,   an'   pistils   bright   an' 

handy,  O! 

Sez  he,  'Come  on,  brave  followers  widh  fire  an*  sword  an'  fury, 
An'   we'll   lick   the   greasy   Yankees,   for  it's   I   that  am   the 
dandy,  O!' 

"Och,   they   marched   and   they   countermarched   widh   fifes   an' 

bangin'  cymbals, 

The  soldiers  they  was  bound  to  whip  an'  cut  us  all  to  pieces,  O! 
The  Gineral  was  as  lively  as  the  game  of  peas  an'  thimbles. 
Sez   he,    'We'll   rob   a   bankin'-house   an'    all   be   as   rich  as 
Croesus,  O!' 

*'Thin  off  they  went  at  double-quick,  an'  no  thin'  stood  against  'em; 

With  cavalry  an'  cannon,  ivery  gun  in  place  to  limber,  O! 
Till  on  a  suddent  there  they  saw  the  Yankee  boys  fernenst  'em, 
In  solemn  solid  columns  pourin'  through  the  open  timber,  O! 

"Thin  the  Gineral's  ahrrmy  stopped,  for  it  was  more  than  they 

expected; 
An*   it   ran   about   the  lines,    *0   wirra,   now   we're   larruped 

surely,  O!' 
An*  Price  sez  to  an  adjutant,  in  manner  quite  dejected, 

'Here,  take  my  place  a  little  while;  I'm  feelin'  very  poorly,  O!' 
[287] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Thin  back  he  rode  to  camp,  an'  niver  drawed  his  feet  from  stirrup, 
.  .  .  Though  he  had  ridden  like  the  wind  o'er  swamp  and  hill 

and  hummock,  O!  .  .   . 
Until  he'd  got  a  smashin'  dose  of  peppermint  an*  syrup, 

For    sez    he,    'I've    got    an    awful    pain    an*    sinkin'    in  my 
stummock,  O!' 

"Meanwhile,  the  Yankee  boys  put  in  with  valor  quite  undoubted. 
They  fought  till  all  the  field  was  piled  widh  heaps  of  dead 

an'  dyin',  O! 

The  Rebels  was  repulsed  widh  loss,  an'  thin  complately  routed, 
An'   them  as  wasn't  took  jist  barely   saved   themselves  by 
flyin',  O! 

"So  Gineral  Price  left  camp,  as  the  papers  all  has  told  yez, 

For  the  line  of  Arkansas,  where  the  ground  don't  lay  so  level,  O! 
An'  nothin'  has  been  heerd  of  the  Gineral  or  his  soldiers, 

Except  he  still  was  sick,  an'  they  was  runnin'  like  the  devil,  O!" 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  became  daily  more  evident  that  a  battle  was 
imminent.  The  Silvertoes,  having  encountered  several 
reverses,  were  now  nerving  themselves  for  a  grand  effort. 
They  were  coming  with  fire  and  sword  and  that  sort 
of  thing. 

Woshy-Boshy  knew  this,  and  yet  he  was  calm. 
His  cheek  did  not  blanch.  He  was  even  cheerful,  and 
laughed  perhaps  more  heartily  than  ever  over  the  jokes 
and  sparkling  paragraphs  in  The  National  Intelligencer. 
Yet  the  Snakeheads  did  not  question  his  ability  to 
lead  them  in  this  crisis.  They  well  knew  that  when 
aroused  he  was  as  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners, 
or  a  speckled  jackass  while  in  the  act  of  kicking  over  a 
peanut-stand. 

He  chawed  more  tobacco,  however,  than  usual. 

[288] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

One  day  he  took  a  large  chaw,  and  handing  it  to 
Boozy  woozy,  he  said: 

"Will  you  sustain  me?" 

"I  will,"  replied  the  gentle  savage,  biting  off  a  large 
piece. 

"Take  a  pound  of  the  best  store  tobacker,"  said 
Woshy-Boshy,  "and  soak  it  in  molasses  and  rum, 


and  it  makes  as  good  tobacker  as  I  want  to  use — that 
is,  if  it  is  chemically  examined  by  Professor  Chitton 
and  warranted  to  contain  no  deleterious  substances." 
After  enjoying  themselves  chawing  tobacco  for 
some  time  they  commenced  planning  for  the  approach 
ing  engagement.  "As  we  don't  wish  to  become  idiots 
and  gibber,  with  straw  in  our  hair,  we  won't  look  at 

[289] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

those  maps  in  The  New  York  Herald  any  more.  Let 
us  souse  a  tom-cat  in  a  pan  of  ink,  draw  him  across 
a  sheet  of  paper,  and  have  a  more  intelligible  map  of 
our  own."  So  said  Woshy-Boshy,  and  Boozywoozy 
was  agreeable  thereto. 

Woshy-Boshy  had  appointed  the  next  day  for  the 
foe  to  advance.  The  plans  were  all  made.  Already 
the  Snakehead  troops  were  on  their  way  to  the  field, 
three  hundred  masses  and  twenty-four  barrels  of  them 
having  gone  round  by  Lake  Superior,  on  board  the 
steamer  Iron  City,  Capt.  Ed.  Turner.  Woshy-Boshy 
purposed  going  by  way  of  Portland,  and  had  engaged 
passage  on  Maxfield's  stage.  He  was  expecting  Horace 
round  every  moment  for  his  baggage.  It  was  an  effect 
ing  scene,  the  parting  of  Woshy-Boshy  and  Boozy- 
woozy.  (The  latter  had  conscientious  scruples  about 
engaging  in  a  war  where  they  fired  real  bullets,  and 
hence  he  was  to  stay  at  home.)  They  had  known  each 
other  from  childhood,  and  now  they  were  about  to  part 
—perhaps  forever.  "Do  you  remember,"  said  Woshy- 
Boshy,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  "how  we 
used  to  throw  stones  at  an  old  blind  man  and  scalp 
apple-women,  in  the  halcyon  days  of  youth's  spring 
time?  Innocent  prattlers!  Them  days  is  past!  Do 
you  remember,  too,  how  in  after-years,  as  we  were  about 
blossoming  into  manhood,  I  used  to  borrow  money  of 
you!" 

"I  do,"  said  Boozywoozy,  tears  standing  in  his  eyes 
in  chunks — "I  do,  distinctually !" 

"Perhaps  I  sha'n't  never  borrow  any  more  money 
off  you  no  more!"  continued  the  chief. 

"You  make  me  miserable!    See!    These  tears  are 

[290] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

real,  and  these  poignant  moans  are  nat'ral.  Big 
thing !"  So  spoke  Boozy  woozy. 

"Here  is  my  photograph.  It  is  by  one  of  the  old 
masters." 

"Thank  you — oh,  thank  you!"  said  Boozy  woozy. 
"I'll  wear  it  next  to  my  heart,"  and  he  placed  it  in  his 
left  coat-tail  pocket. 

"If  I  fall,"  said  Woshy-Boshy,  clutching  his  friend 
by  the  coat-collar — "if  I  fall,  promise  me  that  you  will 
break  the  news  gently  to  my  creditors?  Prepare  them 
gradually  for  the  dreadful  shock." 

"Consider  it  already  done!"  said  Boozywoozy,  ever 
anxious  to  accommodate  his  old  and  tried  friend. 

"Our  friendship  reminds  me  of  that  of  Damon  and 
Pythias,"  said  Woshy-Boshy. 

"I  think  we  are  somewhat  on  that  lay,"  replied  his 
trusty  friend.  "But  what  are  you  putting  that  junk- 
bottle  of  peppermint  in  your  pocket  for?" 

"  To  have  it  by  me  in  case  of  emergency." 

"Ah,  indeed!  I  remember  General  Price  had  it 
pretty  bad." 

"Had  what?" 

"The  emergency." 

"And  do  you  remember  likewise,  my  good  Boozy- 
woozy,  how  I  one  day,  in  the  exuberance  of  my  childish 
heart,  tied  a  cooking-stove  to  the  neck  of  my  decrepit 
grandfather  and  shoved  him  into  the  river?  Ah!  the 
happy  days  of  my  childhood!  Rock  me  to  sleep, 
mother,  rock  me  to  sleep!" 

There  was  profound  silence  in  the  wigwam  for  a 
moment,  save  the  sound  of  the  tears  of  the  savages, 
which  patteredj  pattered,  upon  the  floor. 

[291] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Will  childhood's  days,"  said  Woshy-Boshy,  at 
length,  buckling  on  his  armor,  also  his  coat  of  mail — 
"will  childhood's  days  ever  come  back  to  us  again?" 

"I'll  bet  the  coffee  and  cakes  at  Meschutt's  that 
they  won't!"  exclaimed  Boozywoozy.  "Is  it  a  go?" 

They  conversed  a  few  moments  more,  when  Woshy- 
Boshy  arose  to  depart.  "You  will  see  me  mother," 
he  said,  in  a  soft  voice,  "will  you  not?  Hush!  If  I 
fall  ask  her,  eOh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be 
proud?'" 

"I  will  interrogate  that  elderly  female  upon  that 
important  matter  the  moment  I  hear  you  have  been 
scooped  in!" 

"Tis  well!"  said  the  chief.  "And  now  farewell!  I 
fain  would  have  thy  blessing  upon  my  head  ere  I  go; 
and  if  you  can  also  lend  me  your  umbrella,  I  shall 
esteem  it  a  particular  favor." 

They  wept  upon  each  other's  bosom.  They  stood  up 
to  their  waists  in  their  own  sobs.  The  floor  of  the  wig 
wam  was  literally  a  lake  of  tears,  and  the  chairs  and 
tables  were  floating  around  like  ships.  Their  sighs 
were  heard  ten  miles  off. 

Agreeable  to  expectation,  the  battle  occurred  the 
next  day.  Woshy-Boshy  was  kicked  in  the  stomach 
by  an  ambulance  horse,  and  fell  fatally  wounded  at 
the  first  fire.  Previous  to  expiring,  however,  he  handed 
Nicholson  a  five-dollar  bill  to  give  him  a  favorable 
notice  in  his  report  of  the  battle,  in  The  World,  and 
requested  that  Frank  Wood  should  put  him  in  his 
"Pulpit  Pictures." 

The  battle  was  a  decisive  one,  not  only  breaking  the 

[292] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

back,  but  caving  in  the  stomach  of  the  rebellion.  The 
Silvertoes  never  had  any  more  trouble  with  the  Snake- 
heads.  Those  savages,  after  considerable  rehearsing, 
learned  to  behave  decently.  Reunited,  the  nations 
became  stronger  than  ever  and  marched  on  resist- 
lessly  to  greatness  and  grandeur. 

Winona,  the  Prestidigitating  Squaw  of  the  Snake- 
heads,  married  a  young  Silvertoe  of  rich  but  respectable 
parents,  and  has  lots  of  new  dresses  and  things.  She 
is  very  happy. 

Woshy-Boshy's  sons  all  went  to  farming  except  one 
— Minky-Winky.  He  is  attached  to  all  the  various 
circus  companies,  and  appears  as  the  North  American 
savage  of  the  far- Western  prairies.  He  contemplates 
getting  up  an  entirely  new  act,  which  will  involve  the 
use  of  banners. 

Boozywoozy  left  off  being  an  Indian  and  a.ssumed 
the  duties  of  a  chaplain  on  board  the  steamer  Western 
Metropolis,  and  is  now  at  work  on  a  man  named  Morris, 
with  some  hope  of  converting  him,  but  not  much. 

Thus  closes  a  romance  which  was  written  with  one 
arm  tied  behind  me,  and  under  other  equally  adverse 
circumstances.  Gentle  reader,  however  glad  you  may 
be  that  it  is  done,  you  cannot  be  more  so  than  I  am. 
Hurrah!  Embrace  me! 
21 


ARTEMTJS    WARD 
MAINE  IN  MARCH 

"Remember  the  ides  of  March." 

— W.  Shakspeare. 

No  need,  oh,  W.  Shakspeare,  of  telling  me  to  remem 
ber  those  ides.  I  shall  not  forget  them — not  a  solitary 
ide — while  I  live. 

The  Prodigal  Sun  shone  brightly  and  warmly  the 
afternoon  on  which  I  tore  myself  from  my  weeping 
friends  in  Madison  Square  and  started  for  Maine. 
Broadway  was  warm  almost  to  sweatiness,  and  the 
classic  Bowery  lay  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  dove-eyed 
maiden  Spring  was  apparently  here  again,  and  me- 
thought  I  would  have  nice  times  among  the  squirrels 
and  bluebirds  and  dandelions  down  in  Maine. 

I  remembered  a  stately  oak  on  the  banks  of  a  beauti 
ful  brook.  I  will  recline  under  the  oak,  methought, 
and  read  The  New  York  Ledger.  But  the  dove-eyed 
maiden  Spring,  like  several  other  dove-eyed  maidens 
who  have  had  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaintance,  had 
no  hesitation  in  repudiating  her  promises,  and  sent  a 
big  snow-storm  after  us. 

It  came  roaring  upon  us  just  as  the  night  was  setting 
in,  beating  fearfully  against  the  car  windows  and  clog 
ging  up  the  wheels. 

I  am  warranted  in  stating  that  it  was  one  of  the 
storms,  leaving  us  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  drift  of  its 
meaning,  for  we  soon  found  ourselves  fast  in  a  snow 
drift.  The  "iron  horse,"  as  I  think  I  have  seen  the 
locomotive  called,  made  a  few  desperate  plunges  for 
ward,  and  then  seceded  from  us  entirely,  tearing  down 
the  track  like  the  little  bay  beauty  Flora  Temple,  with 

[2941 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

her  tail  done  up  in  pepper-corns  of  an  extraordinarily 
persuasive  character.     We  were  in  the  woods  and  the 
storm  was  raging  with  all  the  fury  of  a  woman  "corned." 
The  black  night,  like  the  black  knights  of  our  popular 
bloodthirsty  literature,  laughed  in  a  sardonic  manner 
at  our  "snow  of  troubles,"  and  then  frowned  fiercely 
upon  us — the  innocent  and  helpless.     We  denounced 
the  railroad  company  in  withering  terms.     If  I  used 
stronger  language  than  the  rest — if  I  more  thoroughly 
and  convincingly  laid  bare  the  arrogant  villainy  of  rail 
road  monopolies,  it  must  not  be  attributed  to  a  desire 
to  make  myself  conspicuous,  but  rather  to  the  fact  of  my 
being  a  deadhead  on  the  road.     The  refractory  iron 
horse  was  led  back,  and  we  went  slowly  forward  again. 
The  conductor  said  he'd  get  us  into  Portland  that 
night,  certain,  whereupon  a  gentleman  from  Bangor 
said,  "he  hoped  so,  tew,  for  he'd  rather  gin  a  quarter 
than  not  reach  hum  next  day —     I  had,  I  snore!"  he 
added,  glancing  around  the  car.    "Darned  if  I  hadn't." 
Standing  late  at  night  in  the  great  dismal  depot  at 
Portland,  it  occurred  to  me  that  when,  many  years 
ago,  the  Indians  sold  the  land  upon  which  that  beauti 
ful  and  brilliant  city  now  stands,  for  a  jug  of  indif 
ferent  rum,  they  considerably  cheated  the  whites.     But 
this  was  only  the  churlish  crotchet  of  the  moment. 
Portland  is  all  right  and  abounds  in  inimitable  clams; 
likewise  pretty  girls,  who  like  to  get  fellows  on  a  piece 
of  twine  and  pull  them  around  in  a  distracting  manner. 
Portland  has  got  over  expecting  the  Great  Eastern,  its 
chief  amusement  now  consisting  of  sliding  down-hill 
and  admiring  the  princely  quarterly  dividends  (which 
are  now  declared  three  times  a  day)   of  the  Grand 

[295] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Trunk  Railway,  which  thoroughfare  is  managed  by 
British  gentlemen  with  side-whiskers,  who  have  vainly 
searched  many  weary  years  for  their  long  lost  H. 
But,  as  Lord  Palmerston  felicitously  remarks,  "What's 
the  hods  so  long's  we're  'appy?" 

A  city  election  was  to  occur  next  day,  and,  fearing 
that  I  might  be  elected  alderman  by  one  of  those 
sublime  uprisings  of  the  honest  masses  which  are  some 
times  witnessed  when  things  assume  a  crisis  shape, 
I  hastily  left  by  the  early  morning  train.  I  go  north 
ward  toward  the  White  Mountains,  which  loom  up 
in  the  distance  like  the  ghosts  of  immense  giants.  A 
portion  of  the  journey  is  performed  by  stage,  and  it 
pleases  me  to  find  an  old  friend  and  fellow-soldier  in 
the  gentleman  who  holds  the  reins  over  the  spirited 
team.  We  both  fought  in  the  Madawaska  war,  carry 
ing  death  and  devastation  among  the  foe  wherever  we 
appeared.  At  the  memorable  and  bloody  battle  of 
Pipsywipsy  we  were  both  fatally  wounded  three  times 
by  falling  out  of  the  baggage- wagon;  but  the  eagles  of 
victory  perched  upon  our  banners,  and  in  the  language 
of  my  old  friend,  Dan  Webster,  "we  ain't  dead  yet." 

I  am  partial  to  sensations,  and  jumping  from  sunny 
and  summery  Madison  Square  to  bleaky  and  breezy 
Maine  is  one  of  'em,  beyond  peradventure.  The  snow 
is  very  deep.  The  people  want  it  to  go,  but  it's  no  go ! 
The  fences  are  completely  buried,  and  in  some  in 
stances  drifts  have  surrounded  houses  like  the  walls 
of  a  fort.  But  it  is  quite  cheerful  in  the  section  to 
which  I  allude  when  compared  to  some  parts  of  the 
state,  where  I  am  informed  it  snows  continually  for 
fifteen  months  in  the  year. 

[296] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

This  is  the  happy  land  of  baked  beans  and  pure 
religion.  Here  "I  guess  I  can  dew  it!"  Here  men 
get  rich  on  farms  which  at  first  sight  look  as  if  they 
could  produce  nothing  but  crops  of  rocks.  Here  land 
which  an  Illinois  farmer  wouldn't  have  on  his  premises 
at  any  rate  is  held  at  an  elevated  figure.  Here  when  a 
man  don't  clearly  understand  you,  he  says,  "Hay?" 
and  when  he  is  astonished,  "Sho!"  Here  people  talk 
through  their  noses  to  a  great  and  sometimes  alarming 
extent,  nature  having  kindly  provided  some  of  them 
with  noses  like  covered  bridges,  each  nostril  being  large 
enough  to  let  a  double  team  of  words  go  through. 
Here  the  people  have  just  eccentricities  enough  to  be 
interesting.  Here  they  can  invent,  chop,  swap,  work, 
and  (if  necessary)  fight.  Here  there  is  maple  sugar, 
virtue,  shrewdness,  strong  arms  and  big  chests,  pickerel, 
rosy  cheeks  and  true  hearts,  ever-busy  knitting-needles, 
cream,  an  undying  love  for  Bunker  Hill,  honey,  patriot 
ism,  stocking  yarn,  mountains,  ponds,  hoop-poles, 
churches,  school-houses,  pine  logs,  scenery  that  knocks 
Switzerland  into  a  disordered  chapeau,  and  air  so  pure 
that  the  New-Yorker  is  sorry  he  can't  bottle  some  of 
it  and  carry  it  to  the  metropolis  for  daily  use. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  a  rather  singular  cir 
cumstance  that  occurred  in  my  voyage  from  Portland 
to  Boston  per  steamboat.  I  went  aboard,  secured  a 
state-room,  and  proceeded  to  fall  into  one  of  those 
sweet  slumbers  which  ever  reward  the  honest  man 
and  Son  of  Temperance.  On  awaking  in  the  night, 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  go  on  deck  and  con 
verse  with  the  man  at  the  helm  in  regard  to  nautical 
affairs,  as  I  was  an  old  sea-dog  myself,  having  had 

[297] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

perilous  experience  on  the  Oxford  and  Cumberland 
Canal  in  the  capacity  of  assistant  chambermaid.  The 
man  was  not  at  the  helm,  but  I  discovered  that  the 
steamer  was  going  bravely  ahead,  taking  a  large  wharf 
and  a  considerable  portion  of  Portland  with  her.  I 
laughed  one  of  my  "silvery  laughs,"  but  didn't  say 
anything  to  anybody  about  the  matter,  because  it 
was  such  an  excellent  joke  on  Portland.  I  don't 
remember  to  have  ever  read  of  a  more  singular  cir 
cumstance.  It  is  true  that  certain  unprincipled  per 
sons,  who  I  have  reason  to  believe  are  Secessionists  at 
heart,  stated  that  the  boat  remained  tied  at  her  wharf 
all  night,  and  did  not  leave  Portland  in  consequence 
of  the  storm;  but  I  confidently  call  upon  Longfellow, 
Holmes,  Everett,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  in  Boston, 
who  met  me  at  the  wharf  the  next  morning,  to  refute 
the  calumny.  Going  from  Portland  to  Boston  in  a 
steamboat  with  a  large  wharf  and  several  flourishing 
warehouses  attached  is  a  rather  large  thing  to  do,  I 
candidly  confess,  but  I  did  it. 

In  the  language  of  Mr.  C.  Melnotte,  dost  like  the 
picter?  ALPHONSO  THE  BRAVE. 

OIL  VS.  VINEGAR 

OR 

THE  RANTANKEROUS  LECTURER 

(The  Carpet  Bag,  June  19,  1852) 

BY  LIEUTENANT  CHUB 

MANY  years  ago  when  the  temperance  question  was 
first  being  agitated,  the  good  people  of  B ,  Maine, 

[298] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

were  informed,  by  "posters,"  that  Mr.  B.  Franklin 

Put-it-to-'em  would,  on  evening,  deliver,  at  the 

village  school-house,  a  lecture  on  temperance. 

At  "early  candle-light"  on  the  evening  appointed 
the  "house"  was  crowded  with  villagers,  among  whom 
was  'Squire  Thadeus  Dobson,  familiarly  called  "Uncle 
Thad." 

Uncle  Thad  was  a  wealthy,  jolly,  toddy-drinking 
farmer,  who  took  especial  delight,  like  many  in  those 
days,  in  "poking  sticks"  at  a  temperance  lecturer;  and, 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  honored  this  meeting 
solely  for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  "muss,"  or,  in  the 
modern  classics,  "having  a  time." 

After  the  choir  had  favored  the  audience  with  that 
soul-stirring,  never-to-be-sufficiently-appreciated  hymn, 
"Drunkards,  reform!"  Mr.  Put-it-to-'em  arose  and 
commenced  his  discourse.  He  sent  distillers,  sellers, 
and  drinkers  to  the  "old  boy"  with  a  rapidity  that 
was  truly  remarkable.  In  short,  he  labored  hard  to 
convince  his  hearers  that,  to  use  the  language  of  the 
estimable  Mr.  Stiggins,  of  Pickwick  Club  memory, 
"all  drinks  were  wanities" 

"Yes!"  roared  the  lecturer,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
hitting  the  desk  a  tremendous  blow  with  his  clenched 
fist,  "every  glass  of  liquor  a  man  drinks  is  a  nail  in 
his  coffin!" 

"What's  that?  What's  that?  I  say,  are  you  sartin 
about  that  'ar?"  exclaimed  Uncle  Thad,  in  a  very  high 
key,  jumping  up  in  his  seat. 

"Yes!  Oh  yes,  my  friend!  quite  certain,"  returned 
Mr.  Put-it-to-'em. 

"Wall,  if  'tis  so,  I've  drank  enough  to  make  mine  a 

[299] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

cast-iron  one,  and  seven  or  eight  thicknesses  at  that!" 
bellowed  Uncle  Thad,  amid  the  roars  of  the  audience. 
Mr.  P.,  seeing  that  it  would  be  useless  to  proceed 
further,  "left." 

The  next  winter  another  lecturer  visited  B ,  and, 

being  really  a  sincere,  worthy  man,  succeeded  in  re 
claiming  many  of  the  old  soakers,  among  whom  was 
Uncle  Thad. 

MORAL. — Strive  to  do  good  on  the  principles  laid 
down  in  the  Bible;  because  if  you  don't,  somehow  or 
other  "folks  don't  take  no  interest." 


A  YANKEE   "PASS" 

(The  Carpet  Bag,  September  11,  1852) 

I  HAVE  met  with  many  "rum"  chaps  during  a  brief 
existence  in  this  somewhat  erratic  world,  but  I'm 
inclined  to  think  Jonny  Ray,  of  "down  East"  notoriety, 
the  "rummiest"  of  them  all.  In  the  expressive  lan 
guage  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  dwell  in  "Gotham's 
Bowery,"  he  is  "a  out-and-outer — a  reg'lar  trump!" 
Far  and  wide  the  country  o'er  is  Jonny  renowned  for 
his  wit,  his  cunning,  and  his  joking  disposition.  He 
is  a  blower,  too;  place  Barnum,  Bateman,  Dow,  and 
Gleason  alongside  of  him  on  this — they'd  all,  indi 
vidually  and  collectively,  sink  into  the  most  remote 
insignificance. 

During  a  recent  visit  to  the  "old  folks  at  home,"  I, 
of  course,  called  on  Jonny.  He  was  glad  to  see  me,  and, 
over  a  bottle  of  pop-beer,  told  the  following  anecdote: 

[300] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

In  the  early  part  of  the  season  Sands  &  Quick's 

Menagerie  and  Circus  combined  exhibited  at  H , 

where  fives  the  renowned  Jonny  aforementioned.  Now 
Jonny,  like  three  or  four  men  with  whom  I  have  the 
honor  of  being  acquainted,  is  not  always  flush,  and  on 
this  day  hadn't  the  first  cent.  In  the  beautiful,  im 
pressive  language  of  Capt.  J.  Rynders,  he  asked  him 
self,  "What  the  d— 1  is  to  be  did?"  He  wanted  to 
see  the  elephant;  but  how  could  he?  With  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  he  paced  the  village  tap -room  for  a  few 
moments,  "bursting,"  as  Jillson,  of  The  Waverly,  would 
say,  "into  a  reverie.'9  At  last  he  somewhat  astonished 
the  inmates  of  the  room  by  jumping  up  into  the  air 
with  the  exclamation,  "I  have  it!"  and  immediately 
left  for  his  cottage.  In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned, 
with  his  old  hat  filled  with  potatoes,  and  marched  boldly 
up  to  the  door  of  the  circus  tent. 

"What'n  thunder  you  goin'  to  dew  with  all  o'  them 
'ar  pertaters?"  bellowed  Tom  Sykes,  who  was  one 
of  'em. 

"Oh,"  returned  Jonny,  in  a  very  loud  voice,  "I'm 
goin'  to  gin  'em  ter  the  old  elephant!  I've  gin  him 
one  hatful  already,  and  he  likes  'em,  you'd  better 
b'lieve!" 

"Y-e-s,"  replied  Mr.  Sykes,  as  he  cocked  his  eyes 
in  a  manner  which  was  not  entirely  meaningless,  "I 
presume  he  duz !" 

The  doorkeeper,  with  a  smile  at  Jonny's  benevolence, 
stood  one  side,  and  Jonny  went  in,  chuckling  within 
himself  at  the  idea  of  seeing  the  whole  for  a  hatful  of 
potatoes. 

CHUB. 

[301] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

THINGS  FROM  CHUB'S  KNAPSACK 

(The  Carpet  Bag,  October  16,  1852) 

OLD  Mr.  Stone,  who  used  to  live  in  Sweden,  Maine, 
had  a  very  stupid  son  whose  name  was  Solomon. 
Solomon  did  not  in  the  least,  as  regards  wisdom, 
resemble  the  knowing  old  king  for  whom  he  had  been 
named;  quite  the  contrary.  He  was  continuously 
committing  blunders,  many  of  which  used  to  cause  his 
affectionate  dad  no  little  trouble. 

One  day  he  was  sent  over  to  neighbor  Stone's  to 
purchase  a  fine  calf  which  Stone  had  to  sell.  Upon 
starting  Solomon  had  received  orders  to  this  effect: 
he  was  to  offer  Stone  five  dollars  at  first,  but  if  Stone 
refused  to  dispose  of  the  "critter"  for  this  sum,  he  was 
to  offer  six  dollars.  Off  Solomon  posted,  determined 
to  do  things  right  for  once  in  his  life. 

"Mr.  Stone,"  said  Solomon,  on  his  arrival  at  that 
gentleman's  house,  "Fll  give  you  six  dollars  for  that  9ar 
calf  of  yours.  Will  you  take  five?" 

Mr.  Stone,  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  con 
cluded  to  take  six. 

Mr.  G.  Washington  Dobbs,  when  sober,  was  the 
meekest,  most  modest,  down-at-the-mouth  man  I  ever 
saw;  but  let  him  get  a  little  rum  into  his  stomach — 
which  I  regret  to  say  he  often  did — it  "riz"  him 
right  up — in  short,  as  W.  Micawber  would  say,  made  a 
lion  of  him!  He  was  ready  to  fight,  swear,  or  pray, 
as  occasion  seemed  to  require.  He  was  patriotic,  too, 
when  under  the  influence  of  rum;  he'd  talk  about  the 

[302] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

"Union/*  "Star-spangled  Banner,"  and  all  those  things, 
in  a  manner  which  was  truly  eloquent. 

One  day  last  fall  he  got  "on  a  time"  and  brought  up 
about  midnight  at  the  Widow  Smith's  excellent  hotel. 

"Mrs.  Smith,"  said  Dobbs,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
much  to  that  respectable  lady's  astonishment,  "I 
shall  stop  in  your  house  to-night!  I  want  to  be  lit 
to  bed  with  a  golden  candlestick,  and  sleep  on  sheets 
of  silk!" 

Mrs.  Smith  assured  him  that  she  could  not  possibly 
comply  with  his  rather  extravagant  wishes,  but  he 
should  have  the  best  her  house  afforded. 

Dobbs  concluded  to  stop,  but,  previous  to  going  to 
bed,  insisted  upon  embracing,  in  the  most  affectionate 
manner,  Mrs.  Smith,  all  the  little  Smiths,  and  the  hired 
man,  who,  by  the  way,  having  worked  hard  all  day, 
was  not  a  little  huffy  at  being  routed  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  "by  (as  he  called  Dobbs)  an  infernal  old 
fool!" 

After  assuring  Mrs.  Smith  that  he  would  pay  his 
bill  in  the  morning  with  guineas,  and  that  her  children 
should  each  receive  a  splendid  gold  watch,  he  was 
persuaded  to  retire. 

In  the  morning  he  came  creeping  down-stairs,  and, 
humbly  walking  up  to  the  landlady,  said : 

"Mrs.  Smith,  I  don't  feel  very  well  this  morning.  I 
guess  I'll  have  some  gin!" 

There  was,  indeed,  a  contrast  between  night  and 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Smith  noticed  it. 

Professor    Reynolds,   who  once  taught  the  B— 
Academy,   was  the  most  absent-minded   man  about 

[303] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

every-day  affairs  I  ever  saw.  His  mind  was  all  wrapped 
with  books,  and  he  cared  no  more  about  what  the  world 
was  up  to  than  a  pig  cares  about  the  Hottentots. 

One  morning  his  wife — who,  by  the  way,  differed 
vastly  from  her  spouse  in  this  respect — was  reading 
aloud  from  the  paper  an  account  of  a  horrible  murder. 
A  man  had,  so  the  paper  said,  deliberately  killed  his 
whole  family — consisting  of  some  dozen  members — 
with  an  ax!  Mrs.  R.  laid  down  the  paper  with  the 
exclamation,  "What  a  wretch!" 

"Yes,"  said  her  husband  in  a  very  quiet  tone,  look 
ing  up  from  his  book,  "he  should  be  talked  to!" 

Old  Bill  Burnett,  if  he  was  a  church  member,  was 
the  meanest  man  about.  One  cold,  stormy  winter's 
night  he  asked  a  poor  stroller  who  was  passing  his 
house  to  walk  in  and  have  a  mug  of  cider.  The  poor 
fellow  gladly  accepted  the  invitation.  After  the  cider 
had  been  drawn,  warmed,  and  drank  old  Burnett 
told  the  man  that  a  few  cents  would  settle  the  bill! 
The  wanderer  paid  the  money  and  went  on  his  way, 
leaving  the  old  hunks  to  laugh  at  his  shrewdness — or 
rather  robbery ! 

Aunt  Hetty  Dillson,  a  very  respectable  young  lady 
of  forty,  who  used  to  live  "solitary  and  alone"  on  a 
big  farm  her  dad  had  left  her  on  his  exit  from  this 
world,  prided  herself  on  her  modesty.  Her  neighbor, 
Mr.  Carter,  had  a  fine  bull  calf  which  she  wished  much 
to  buy.  For  fifteen  nights  she  lay  awake,  thinking  how 
she  could  broach  the  subject  to  her  neighbor  without 
saying  the  "wulger"  word  bull.  At  last  she  hit  it. 

[304] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

One  day  as  Carter  was  passing  he  was  accosted  by  Miss 
Dillson  as  follows : 

"Mr.  Carter,  do  you  wish  to  dispose  of  your  gentle 
man  bull  calf?" 

Mr.  Carter  marveled  at  her  great  delicacy. 

AN  OLD-FASHIONED  HUSKING 

BY  CHUB 
(The  Carpet  Bag,  October  30,  1852) 

READER,  you  have  heard  of  Oxford  County,  that  is 
to  be  found  in  the  northern  part  of 

That  famous  fabled  country, 
'Way  down  East, 

haven't  you?  Well,  I  first  saw  daylight  there,  and  of 
course  have  a  liking  for  everything  thereabouts  in 
general,  huskings,  doughnuts,  and  bouncing  damsels 
in  particular.  The  women,  i.e.,  the  old  uns — bless 
their  "picters"— don't  stick  themselves  up  as  our  city 
dames  do;  no,  no,  sir!— not  by  a  long  chalk.  They 
rejoice  in  making  themselves  useful,  in  bringing  their 
sons  and  "darters"  up  in  the  way  they  should  go,  so 
that  when  they  get  old  they  may  go  it!  They  are 
indeed  helpmates  to  their  "old  men,"  and  always 
have  an  eye  to  what  is  going  on.  And  the  young 
women,  what  shall  I  say  about  'em?  Don't  every 
body  know  that  they  are  everything  they  should  be- 
that  they  are  handsome,  and  make  the  best  of  wives, 
butter,  and  cheese?  Of  course  everybody  knows  all 
this;  if  they  don't,  however,  they  are  as  bad  off  as  the 

[  305  J 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

man  who  never  heard  of  the  Stebbings !  The  men,  too, 
old  and  young,  are  men  that  are  men — the  real  noble^ 
men  of  our  land.  They  go  round  in  their  shirt-sleeves, 
smoke  pipes,  and  a  few  of  'em,  I  regret  to  say,  imbibe 
rum.  In  short,  the  men,  women,  and  children  are  a 
hard-working,  generous,  honest,  and  jolly  people.  One 
of  their  peculiar  characteristics  is  that  of  keeping  up 
old  times,  going  in  for  huskings,  trainings,  musters,  etc. 
Without  stopping  to  say  whether  I  consider  the  latter 
characteristics  correct  or  not,  I  will  endeavor  to  describe 
an  old-fashioned  husking — such  a  one  as  can  only  be 
seen  in  these  degenerate  days,  I  think,  in  "Old  Oxford." 
When  the  farmer  has  gathered  his  corn,  he  invites 
his  neighbors  to  come  and  help  him  husk  it.  With  a 
wish  to  help  their  neighbor  and  eat  some  of  his  wife's 
good  things,  they  come,  old  and  young.  The  barn  is 
usually  brilliantly  illuminated  with  a  tin  lantern, 
and  the  seats  for  the  huskers  to  sit  on  are  made  of  the 
softest  plank.  With  a  huge  pile  of  corn  before  them 
they  commence  to  husk,  spin  yarns,  sing,  etc.  Soon 
the  "jug"  comes  round,  and  after  imbibing  songs  and 
fish  stories  become  remarkably  plenty.  The  old  uns 
talk  about  "the  times  that  tried  men's  souls,"  the 
men  they  had  licked  when  in  the  logging  swamp,  good 
oxen,  fat  calves,  politics,  etc.  Between  the  group  of 
old  ones  usually  sits  an  old  gray-headed  patriot — one 
who  was  with  Washington  at  Valley  Forge  and  with 
him  at  Monmouth.  And  as  he  tells  his  yarns  for  a 
hundredth  time  watch  the  earnest  attention  that  the 
farmers  give  him.  Now  he  relates  some  affecting 
incident  that  occurred  while  he  was  "out,"  and  see! 
his  auditors  raise  their  hard  hands  of  toil  to  wipe  from 

[306] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

their  weather-beaten  faces  a  tear.  Now  he  tells  about 
the  "iron-gray"  that  Washington  mounted  to  run  the 
traitor,  Arnold,  down.  His  listeners  are  all  attention. 
When  the  old  man  tells  about  that  "infernal  old  scoun 
drel,  King  George,"  of  the  abuse  which  the  English 
heaped  upon  the  Continentalers,  his  auditors  are  justly 
indignant  and  cry :  "  Scoundrel !"  "  Shame !"  "  Knave !" 
etc.  And  so  the  evening  passes  by. 

There  is  usually  present  a  young  man  who  has  "fol 
lowed  the  seas,"  and  he  entertains  the  company  with  a 
nautical  song — perhaps  "A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing 
sea"  (did  you  ever  hear  that  jolliest  and  cleverest 
of  actors,  Frank  Whitman,  sing  this?). 

Most  likely  there  is  a  man  present  who  from  too 
frequent  potations  from  the  "jug"  is  a  little  "sprung." 
He  sings  an  old  but  popular  drinking-song  in  tones 
more  loud  than  musical,  in  which  he  expresses  in 
energetic  terms  his  intention  not  to  "fall  as  the  leaves 
fall,"  but  to  be  "mellow  and  die  a  clever  fellow."  The 
young  and  thoughtless  laugh  at  his  pranks,  but  the  old 
uns  look  solemnly  at  each  other,  shake  their  heads  and 
say,  "Poor  fellow,"  "Pity  he  will  do  so,"  etc. 

It  is  now  eleven  o'clock — 

The  golden  corn's  all  husk'd, 

And  the  farmer's  heart  made  glad, 

and  now  comes  the  rush  to  the  house,  where  the  smiling 
dame  and  her  daughters  have  a  table  prepared  that 
"groans"  with  good  things.  Supper's  over,  lots  of 
lasses  are  present,  and  now 

On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  unconfined; 
No  sleep  till  morn — 
[307] 


ARTEMTJS    WARD 

And  so  they  go  it  until  the  crow  of  the  morning  cock 
warns  them  that  it  is  time  to  quit.  Then  comes 
"going  home  with  the  girls,"  the  parting  kiss,  and  all 
that.  So  ends  the  husking. 

Congressmen  may  boast  of  their  levees;  city  exqui 
sites  of  their  soirees;  fast  young  men  of  their  "good 
times,"  but  as  for  me,  give  me  a  real  old-fashioned 
husking. 

THE  FUGITIVE  SLAVE 

BY  CHUB 
(The  Carpet  Bag,  December  25,  1852) 

THE  milk  of  human  kindness  flows  more  freely  in 
the  rural  districts  than  in  the  city.  As  the  man  in  the 
play  says— I  forget  which  one— "The  country's  all 
heart;  the  city's  all  hollow!"  City  philanthropists, 
abolitionists,  etc.,  talk  loud,  but  when  the  time  comes 
for  them  to  act  they  don't  take  no  interest  or  "have 
other  fish  to  fry."  Not  so  in  the  country.  There  the 
people  not  only  talk,  but  act;  hence  their  good  nature 
is  often  imposed  upon. 

I  am  cognizant  of  a  rich  "sell"  that  came  off  in  one 
of  the  back  towns  in  Maine,  which,  though  it  shows 
the  most  lamentable  depravity  on  the  part  of  the  per 
petrator,  is  "too  good  to  be  lost." 

The  town  to  which  I  refer  boasted  quite  a  respectable 
abolition  society,  of  which  Deacon  Isaac  Freeman  was 
president.  He  was  a  little,  nervous,  active,  good- 
natured,  and  pious  man — one  whom  everybody  loved, 
although  there  were  a  few  who  thought  him  rather  too 

[308] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

impulsive  for  the  prosperity  of  the  cause  for  which  he 
labored.  Some  idea  of  his  zeal  may  be  obtained  when 
I  tell  the  reader  that  I  once  heard  him  in  a  public  meet 
ing — his  hair  dressed  a  la  porcupine — suggest  in  tones 
of  thunder  the  propriety  of  our  marching  South,  gun 
in  hand,  and  by  force  liberating  our  colored  brethren 
and  sisters.  Without  stopping  to  say  whether  I  think 
this  rather  daring  movement  would  result  favorably  to 
the  cause  or  not,  I  will  proceed  to  inform  you  how 
this  society  was  once  "taken  in  and  done  for." 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  a  few  months  after  the 
fugitive  slave  bill  had  gone  into  effect,  a  colored  woman 

dashed  into  the  village  of  Y ,  and  halted  not  until 

she  arrived  at  Deacon  Freeman's  door,  upon  which  she 
gave  several  loud  raps. 

"Hello!"  said  the  deacon,  as  he  opened  the  door, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  massa,"  cried  the  woman,  "save  me,  save  me! 
I'm  a  fugitive  slave  jest  escaped  from  a  cruel  massa, 
'way  down  in  old  Virginny." 

"You  have?"  asked  the  deacon,  striking  an  attitude. 

"Yes,  yes.  I  spec'  they  is  after  me  now!"  replied  the 
woman. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  cried  the  deacon.  "If  any  of 
the  bloodhounds  come  into  my  house  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  you  back  to  whips,  chains,  and  bondage, 
they  will  find  me  in  the  way." 

The  reader  will  probably  smile  at  this  heroic  expres 
sion  of  the  deacon's  when  I  tell  him  that  he  was  a  little 
consumptive  man,  and  weighed,  with  his  cowhide  boots 
and  greatcoat  on,  not  more  than  one  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds. 

22  [  309  ] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

The  deacon's  wife  and  daughters  gathered  round 
the  woman,  while  he  ran  out  into  the  village  to  inform 
his  co-workers  of  her  arrival.  He  soon  attracted  a 
crowd  and,  mounting  the  village  hay-scales,  addressed 
the  people  as  follows: 

"Gentlemen,  in  my  house  is  a  fugitive  slave  who  had 
just  escaped  from  a  master  who  has  whipped,  bruised, 
and  mangled  her  in  the  most  horrible  manner.  She 
is  on  her  way  to  Canada — the  bloodhounds  are  after 
her.  Shall  we  not  help  her?" 

"Yes!"  shouted  the  crowd,  and  twenty  or  thirty 
dollars  were  raised  for  her  on  the  spot.  The  deacon 
harnessed  his  horse  and  carried  her  thirty  miles  on  her 
wTay  that  night. 

The  succeeding  fall  the  deacon  and  one  of  his  neigh 
bors,  Mr.  Glum,  visited  K ,  shire  town  of  the  county. 

The  court  being  in  session,  they  dropped  in.     In  the 
prisoner's  box  was  a  young  mulatto  man. 

"What's  that  poor  fellow  been  doing?"  asked  the 
deacon  of  a  young  man  who  sported  a  blue  coat  with 
brass  buttons  and  a  hat  with  a  large  weed  upon  it 

"Poor  fellow  be  d — d!"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 
"He's  a  mean,  sneaking  cuss — meaner  than  pizen. 
He's  been  through  the  state  in  woman's  clothes,  calling 
himself  a  fugitive  slave  girl.  He  went  to  Canada  with 
a  lot  of  counterfeit  money  and  passed  some  of  it,  but 
he  got  cotched,  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

"Let's  be  goin',"  whispered  the  deacon  to  Glum. 
"Thunder  and  jews'-harps!"  exclaimed  the  deacon,  as 
soon  as  they  got  outdoors,  "it's  the  same  nigger  we 
helped!" 

"Well,  of  all  the  rum  goes  that  have  come  under  my 

[310] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

immediate  observation,  I'm  rather  inclined  to  think 
this  is  the  rummiest!"  said  Glum. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  deacon,  "let's  have  a  drink 
and  go  home.  Keep  dark,  though!" 

The  deacon,  as  I  before  said,  is  pious  and  the  leading 
man  of  his  church,  yet  if  you  should  say  "fugitive"  to 
him,  I  rather  think  he  would  forget  himself  and  bless 
you  into  heaps. 

PAUL  PRYISM 

BY  LIEUTENANT  CHUB 

(The  Carpet  Bag,  February  5,  1853) 

IF  Hudibras  was  right  in  the  above  remark,  then 
some  I  wot  of  will  never  have  need  of  those  optical 
assistants  vulgarly  called  spectacles.  They  see  with 
the  greatest  correctness,  in  their  own  sagacious  minds, 
the  countless  derelictions  of  duty  in  others.  ''Trifles 
light  as  air  are  confirmations  strong  as  proofs  of  holy 
writ."  Inflated  and  satisfied  with  their  own  acts, 
they  canvass  the  acts  of  others  and  pass  them  in 
review.  If  they  come  not  out  of  the  ordeal  of  these 
self-constituted  judges  unscathed,  then  comes  the  cry, 
"Down  with  them!"  What  right,  we  ask,  have  these 
meddlers,  these  self-made  guardians  of  the  public 
morals,  to  pry  into  the  business  of  others?  Do  they, 
jure  divino,  pass  in  judgment  on  their  fellows?  No! 
But  on  the  contrary  they  transcend  the  laws  of  decency 
and  show  conclusively  their  asinine  propensities.  To 
these  "vigilant  watchmen  on  the  outward  towers"  I 
would  say,  "Physician,  heal  thine  own  infirmities!" 

[311] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

and  let  those  of  your  neighbors  alone.  If  you  have 
business  of  your  own,  demanding  your  attention,  do 
it.  If  you  have  not,  go  frankly,  and  like  a  good  and 
true  philanthropist,  to  those  whose  affairs  you  have 
taken  into  your  hands,  or  whose  conduct  you  think  is 
wrong,  and  say,  "You  are  wrong,  sir  (or  madam,  as 
the  case  may  be) ;  you  are  going  to  the  devil  at  a  two- 
forty  lick!  I  feel  an  interest  in  your  welfare,  and  wish 
to  save  you.  Come,  reform!" 

Hamlet  once,  perhaps  oftener,  said,  "Be  thou  as 
chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape 
calumny." 

I  believe  him.  Did  Hamlet  now  live  I  should  go  to 
him,  take  him  by  the  hand,  and  say,  "Hamlet,  you're 
a  brick;  a  truer  thing  was  never  said." 

Paul  Pryism  and  slander  are  one  and  the  same  thing. 
They  go  hand  and  hand  together.  They  rage  more — 
particularly  the  former — in  the  country  than  in  the 
city,  though  I  would  willingly  take  an  oath  before 
any  respectable  justice  of  the  peace  that  there  is 
twenty-five — I'll  be  moderate — times  as  much  of  it 
as  is  needed  in  the  last-named  place. 

"God  made  the  country,"  and  there,  'mid  green 
fields  and  sparkling  brooks,  let  us  die.  We  love  it 
dearly,  and  the  dears  that  live  in  it,  particularly  those 
of  the  feminine  gender.  'Tis  natural  we  should;  we 
were  born  there.  But  we  do  wish  that  slander 
and  pokeitiveness  (this  latter  word  is  my  own)  could 
be  done  away  with,  could  be — to  use  a  rare  expression 
— "reformed  altogether."  Many  and  many  a  country 
village  do  I  think  of  whose  beautiful  scenery  makes 
them  almost  a  paradise,  and  where  one  would  say 

[312] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

that  the  inhabitants  could  not  but  be  happy,  that  is 
made  a  perfect  purgatory  by  slanderers  and  meddlers. 

But  my  prologue  is  much  longer  than  my  story, 
though  no  matter,  if  it  is  readable. 

The  village  of  T ,  in  a  neighboring  state,  was 

cursed  with  as  large  a  number  of  tattlers  and  Prys  as 
any  extant;  and  the  most,  if  not  all  of  them,  were 
members  of  the  church.  Perhaps  they  didn't  mean  to 
"steal  the  livery  of  heaven  to  serve  the  devil  in,"  but 
it  amounted  to  precisely  the  same  thing. 

At  the  head  of  this  respectable  (?)  body  stood  Mr. 
Zenas  Poke.  The  first  time  I  saw  Warren  as  "Paul 
Pry"  I  at  once  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
sojourned  in  the  village  of  T—  -  during  "vacation," 
and  had  there  made  the  acquaintance  of  Zenas,  else, 
I  argued,  how  could  he  so  nicely  "act  him  out,"  even 
to  his  every  gait?  Zenas  knew  everybody  and  what 
everybody  did.  No  matter  how  trifling  a  misdeed  a 
person  might  commit,  he  would  make  a  mountain  of  it. 
In  short,  he  was  a  second  Paul  Pry.  He  and  his  mates 
were  taught  a  severe  but  just  lesson,  though,  some 
years  ago,  the  incidents  of  which  I  will  relate. 

In  the  year  18 —  there  moved  into  the  village  a 
young,  married  doctor,  who  took  the  place  of  old  Dr. 
Darius  Dosem,  deceased.  The  doctor  was  successful 
in  his  profession,  paid  his  bills,  became  a  member  of 
the  church,  treated  everybody  well,  minded  his  own 
business,  and  conducted  himself  like  a  good  citizen. 
"Criticism  was  disarmed";  Poke  and  his  followers 
could  find  nothing  in  the  doctor's  or  his  wife's  conduct 
to  condemn.  Things  were  not  destined  to  continue  so 
long.  An  avalanche  was  coming — came,  and  amounted 

[313] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

to —  But  the  reader  shall  see  what  it  amounted  to, 
presently. 

The  doctor's  wife  went  to  Boston  to  see  some  friends. 
One  evening  shortly  after  Poke  poked  himself  into  the 
doctor's  domicile.  He  had  not  been  seated  more  than 
five  minutes  when  a  rosy-cheeked,  bouncing  damsel  of 
"sweet  sixteen"  or  thereabouts  passed  through  the 
room. 

"Why,  who  is  that  *ar  gal?"  inquired  Poke. 

"Pretty,  neighbor  Poke,  isn't  she?"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  sly  nod  of  his  head. 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  who  is  she?"  again  asked  Poke,  getting 
excited. 

"Hush!  Softly!"  said  the  doctor,  looking  carefully 
around  the  room  to  see  if  there  were  no  listeners,  then 
softly  whispering  in  Poke's  ear,  said,  "Can  you  keep  a 
secret?" 

"Certainly,  doctor,  of  course!"  said  Zenas,  while 
wonder  and  astonishment  were  depicted  on  his  face. 

"Well,"  continued  the  doctor,  "my  wife  being  gone, 

I  went  over  to  C and  got  her.  She's  here  sort  of 

privately.  Sly  dog,  ain't  I?" 

Zenas  waited  to  hear  no  more.  There  was  a  "quilt 
ing"  that  evening  at  Deacon  Blowhard's,  and  there  he 
posted  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

"Doctor  Mild  is  caught  in  his  deviltry  at  last! 
He's  got  a  bad  woman  at  his  house,  and  is  keeping 
her  sort  of  privately,"  bellowed  Poke,  bursting  into 
the  room. 

"The  wretch!  I  allers  know'd  he  was  no  great 
shakes,"  said  Aunt  Susan  Pitchfork. 

"Monstrous    depravity!"    said    Deacon    Blowhard, 

[314] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

with  a  look  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Aminadab 
Sleek. 

"This  affair  must  be  looked  into,"  said  Parson 
Goody. 

The  next  evening  the  doctor  was  to  appear  before 
the  "Church."  He  came  promptly.  The  meeting 
house  was  crowded,  and  expectation  was  on  tiptoe. 
Zenas  Poke  was  called  upon  and  testified  to  what  we 
have  before  related. 

"Is  this  true,  doctor?"  asked  the  parson. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  "'tis  true  I  have  had  a 
woman  in  my  house  to  take  care  of  it  during  my  wife's 
absence,  but  I  can  see  no  harm  in  it,  seeing  that  she 
is—" 

"Who?"  cried  the  congregation. 

"My  sister!"  replied  the  doctor. 

And  so  it  was.  It  taught  the  tattlers  of  T-  -  a 
good  lesson  and  they  profited  by  it.  The  waggish 
doctor  still  lives  there,  and  is  yet  a  member  of  the 
church — "in  good  standing." 


WALLACE  THAXTER 

(Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  June  18,  1864) 

I  SEEM  to  be  standing  in  a  graveyard,  so  many  of 
my  friends  have  fallen  around  me  during  the  past  few 
years. 

I  wish  they  had  all  been  as  good  to  the  world  as 
Wallace  Thaxter  was. 

I  need  not  go  to  the  fresh-made  grave  of  the  dead 
dramatist  and  critic  with  an  inky  cloak  upon  my 

[315] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

shoulders.  There  is  grief  enough  in  my  heart  over 
his  far  too  early  death  without  that. 

No  need,  either,  as  we  place  the  green  turf  over 
him,  to  say,  God  rest  his  soul!  No  need  to  say  that 
for  our  dead  friend,  because  his  life  was  good  and 
gentle. 

When  he  died  the  stage  lost  one  of  the  best  friends 
it  ever  had.  He  stood  by  it  faithfully  for  long  years. 
He  labored  earnestly  for  its  improvement.  He  worked 
to  have  it  adhere  to  the  good  and  beautiful.  Fervently 
devoted  to  it,  and  with  a  scholar's  admiration  for  the 
lofty  efforts  of  genius  that  were  showered  upon  it  by 
the  earlier  dramatists,  he  could  never  consent  to  its 
being  given  up  to  baser  uses.  And  his  writings  were 
all  stainlessly  beautiful. 

I  know  that  this  is  saying  a  great  deal,  but  those 
who  have  for  years  read  the  dramatic  column  of  the 
journal  he  loved  so  well  know  with  what  strict  truth  I 
speak.  There  were  few  as  chastely  elegant  writers  as 
he.  There  were  few  who  understood  how  to  soften 
and  beautify  our  harsh  language  as  well  as  he.  And 
he  was  generous  and  just. 

He  had  always  a  friendly  word  for  the  young  actor. 

Many  who  have  achieved  eminence  in  the  dramatic 
profession  will  gratefully  remember  the  pleasant, 
cheering  words  he  said  for  them  at  the  commencement 
of  their  uncertain  career.  I  say  they  will  gratefully 
remember  this;  for  while  the  people  of  the  stage  are 
sometimes  accused  of  being  ungrateful,  I  have  found  it, 
in  an  extensive  acquaintance  among  them,  quite  other 
wise  with  those  who  love  and  adorn  their  great  art. 
And  the  kindly  inquiries  that  have  been  made  of  me 

[316] 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

in  all  parts  of  the  country  about  our  late  friend  showed 
how  sincere  their  regard  was  for  him. 

He  was  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him  personally. 

I  think  he  had  no  enemies. 

I  know  how  often  we  are  told  by  noisy  people  that 
it  is  strictly  necessary  for  a  man  of  marked  merit  to 
have  enemies,  but  sometimes  the  noisy  people  die 
and  are  forgotten,  while  the  memory  of  the  genuine 
and  kind-hearted  man,  who  in  his  life  did  good  in  a 
gentle  and  charming  way,  is  always  kept  green  in  the 
hearts  of  his  friends.  And  the  friends  of  Wallace 
Thaxter  can  never  forget  him  while  they  live  in  this 
world — oh,  never! 

I  had  hoped  to  have  him  with  me  in  the  country 
this  summer,  where  the  grass  is  so  brightly  green  and 
the  brooks  run  so  beautifully  clear,  and  he  had  promised 
to  come.  Only  a  few  days  ago  I  wrote  him  a  cheerful 
note,  reminding  him  of  that  promise.  And  I  told  him 
bright  roses  were  laughing  in  the  sunlight  for  him. 
The  little  note  reached  him  while  he  was  dying- 
while  he  was  going  where  brighter  roses  grow,  in  the 
better  land  beyond  the  stars. 

CHARLES  F.  BROWNE. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "THE    CARPET    BAG" 

"The  Surrender  of  Cornwallis."  By  Lieutenant  Chub.  The 
Carpet  Bag,  p.  5.  Boston,  April  17,  1852. 

"Oil  vs.  Vinegar;  or  The  Rantankerous  Lecturer."  By  Lieu 
tenant  Chub.  The  Carpet  Bag,  p.  2.  Boston,  June  19,  1852. 

"A  Yankee  Pass."  The  Carpet  Bag,  p.  6.  Boston,  September 
11,  1852.  (Signed  "Chub.") 

"Things  from  Chub's  Knapsack."  The  Carpet  Bag,  p.  4.  Bos 
ton,  October  16, 1852. 

"An  Old-fashioned  Husking."  By  Chub.  The  Carpet  Bag, 
p.  4.  Boston,  October  30,  1852. 

"Paul  Pryism."  By  Lieutenant  Chub.  The  Carpet  Bag,  p.  6. 
Boston,  February  5,  1853. 

"The  Fugitive  Slave."  By  Chub.  The  Carpet  Bag,  p.  G. 
Boston,  December  25,  1853. 

ARTEMUS    WARD    LETTERS    IN     THE    CLEVELAND    "  PLAIN     DEALER" 

1.  One  of  Mr.  Ward's  Business  Letters,  January  30,  1858. 

2.  Another  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Wheeling,  West  Vir 
ginia.)     February  8,  1858. 

3.  Letter  from  Artemus  WTard.     (Columbus,  Ohio.)     February 
15,  1858. 

4.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Tiffin,  Ohio.)     February  27, 
1858. 

5.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Toledo,  Ohio.)     March  9,  1858. 

6.  Our  Ward  Correspondence.     (Sandusky,  Ohio.)     March  20, 
1858. 

7.  Our  Ward  Correspondence.     (The  Celebrated  Oberlin  Letter — 
really  the  first  high  note  struck.)     March  30,  1858. 

8.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Chicago,  Illinois.)     April  17, 
1858. 

9.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Baldwinsville,  Indiana.)     Has 
cut  of  "Artemus  Ward"  from  an  "autograph"  by  Ryder:   a  rude 
drawing  by  George  Hoyt.)     May  29,  1858. 

[319] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

10.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Dated  Cincinnati:    Appears 
in  His  Book  as  "Wax  Figures  vs.  Shakespeare.")     July  10,  1858. 

11.  The  Atlantic  Cable  in  Baldwinsville.     September  6,  1858. 

12.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     He  visits  Berlin  Heights  and 
Encounters  the  Free  Lovers.     October  11,  1858. 

13.  Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Spirits.     December  13,  1858. 

14.  Our  Local  Heard  From.     (Exciting  account  of  "The  Capter 
of  Mr.  Broun  in  Baldwinsville.")     February  2,  1859. 

15.  Letter  from  Artemus  Ward.     (Dated  Baldwinsville,  Indiana.) 
Contains  much  of  the  material  preserved  in   "The  Showman's 
Courtship.")     February  14, 1859. 

16.  Artemus  Ward  Sees  Piccolomini.     April  26,  1859. 

17.  A  Fourth  of  July  oration  delivered  at  Weathersfield,  Con 
necticut.     By  Artemus  Ward.     July  16,  1859. 

18.  Joy  in  the  House  of  Ward.     November  12,  1859. 

19.  John  Brown,  Hero  of  Kansas  and  Harper's  Ferry.    February 
2, 1860. 

20.  Artemus  Ward  Encounters  the  Octoroon.     April  21,  1860 

21.  Patti.     June  1,  1860. 

22.  Artemus  Ward  Sees  the  Prince  of  Wales.     September  17, 
1860. 

"The  Three  Tigers  of  Cleveland  Journalism."      Plain  Dealer, 
January  28,  1859. 

CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "  VANITY    FAIR*' 

"Artemus  Ward  Visits  Brigham  Young."     Pp.  231-232,  Novem 
ber  10, 1860. 

"Artemus  Ward  on  'Forts.' "     P.  243,  November  17,  1860. 

"Artemus  Ward  on  His  Visit  to  Abe  Lincoln."     Pp.  279-280, 
December  8, 1860. 

"Artemus  Ward  Sees  Forrest."     P.  291,  December  15, 1860. 

"Artemus  Ward  on  His  Travels."     P.  15,  January  12, 1861. 

("  On  the  Wing"  in  His  Book.)       • 

"Artemus  Ward  on  the  Crisis."     P.  37,  January  26,  1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  on  the  Shakers."    Pp.  94-95,  February  23, 1861. 

"Cruise  of  the  Polly  Ann"     By  Artemus  Ward.     P.  141,  March 
23, 1861. 

"East  Side  Theatricals."    P.   136,  March  23,   1861.     (Signed 
"  Alphonso  the  Brave.") 

"Maine  in  March."     P.  181,  April  20,  1861.     (Signed  "Alphonso 
the  Brave.") 

[320] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

"Artemus  Ward  in  the  Southern  Confederacy.  The  Show  Is 
Confiscated."  Pp.  229-230,  May  11,  1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  in  the  South.  His  Trials  and  Adventures." 
Pp.  251-252,  May  25, 1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Free  Lovers."  P.  253,  June  1,  1861. 
(Revised  from  an  earlier  publication  in  the  Plain  Dealer,  October 
11, 1858.) 

"Joy  in  the  House  of  Ward."  P.  263,  June  8,  1861.  (Revised 
from  the  Plain  Dealer  version  of  November  12,  1859.) 

"Moses,  the  Sassy;  or,  The  Disguised  Duke."  By  Artemus 
Ward.  P.  273,  June  15,  1861. 

"The  War  Fever  in  Baldwinsville."  By  Artemus  Ward.  P.  5, 
July  6, 1861. 

"Artemus  Ward's  Weathersfield  Oration."  P.  15,  July  13,  1861. 
(Revised  from  the  Plain  Dealer  of  July  16, 1859.) 

"Marion:  a  French  Romance."  P.  24,  July  13,  1861.  (Not 
signed.) 

"The  Fair  Inez;  or,  The  Lone  Lady  of  the  Crimson  Cliffs.  A 
Tale  of  the  Sea."  Edited  by  Artemus  Ward.  Pp.  39-40,  July  27; 
pp.  51-52,  August  3;  pp.  63-64,  August  10;  pp.  75-76,  August  17; 
pp.  87-88,  August  24,  1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Spirits."  Republished  by  request. 
P.  99,  August  31,  1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  Sees  the  Prince  Napoleon."  Pp.  135-136, 
September  21, 1861. 

"Woshy-Boshy;  or,  The  Prestidigitating  Squaw  of  the  Snake- 
heads."  P.  199,  November  2;  p.  209,  November  9;  pp.  226-227, 
November  16;  pp.  229-230,  November  23,  1861. 

"Artemus  Ward  in  Washington."     P.  199,  April  26,  1862. 

Cartoon:  "Artemus  Ward  as  a  Popular  Lecturer."  First  page, 
issue  of  May  24,  "From  a  Portrait  in  Possession  of  Vanity  Fair." 

"  The  Draft  in  Baldwinsville."     Pp.  136-137,  September  20, 1862. 

"The  Showman  at  Home."     Pp.  147-148,  September  27,  1862. 

"From  A.  Ward.  Treating  of  the  Noble  Red  Man — Domestic 
Affairs— A  Serenade,  Etc."  P.  171,  October  11,  1862. 

"A.  Ward  in  Canada."     P.  207,  November  1,  1862. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  With  many  comic  illustrations. 
12mo,  264  pp.  Engraved  title.  New  York:  Carleton,  Publisher. 
(Late  Rudd  &  Carleton) .  1862. 

Copyright  by  Charles  F.  Brown.  Illustrations  printed  on  yellow 
paper.  Published  May  17, 1862. 

[321] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Wallace  Thaxter."  By  Charles  F.  Browne.  Boston  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette,  June  18,  1864. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Travels.  Part  I — Miscellaneous.  Part 
II — Among  the  Mormons.  With  comic  illustrations  by  Mullen. 
12mo,  231  pp.  Engraved  title.  New  York:  Carleton,  Publisher, 
413  Broadway.  London :  S.  Low,  Son  &  Co.  1865. 

Published  September  23,  1865. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book;  or  the  Confessions  and  Experiences  of 
a  Showman.  With  an  introduction  by  George  Augustus  Sala. 
Reprinted  from  the  Original.  12mo,  96  pp.  London:  Ward, 
Lock  &  Tyler,  158  Fleet  Street.  MDCCCLXV. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Travels.  With  an  introduction  by  George 
Augustus  Sala.  Reprinted  from  the  Original.  12mo,  121  pp. 
London:  Ward,  Lock  &  Tyler,  158  Fleet  Street.  MDCCCLXV. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  With  Notes  and  a  Preface  by  the 
Editor  of  the  Biglow  Papers.  12mo,  167  pp.  London:  John 
Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly.  1865. 

Note:  "At  the  Door  of  the  Tent"  before  title. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  Being  the  Confessions  and  Experiences 
of  a  Showman  and  Major  Jack  Downing.  32mo,  200-187-24  pp. 
London:  Milner  &  Sowerby,  Paternoster  Row.  N.  D. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  With  Notes  and  a  Preface  by  the 
Editor  of  the  Biglow  Papers.  Comprising  the  whole  of  the  Original 
Work,  with  Eight  New  Sketches.  12mo,  194  pp.  London:  John 
Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly.  1865. 

The  cover  title  reads:  "The  only  complete  edition.  Artemus 
Ward.  His  Book.  With  Notes  and  Introduction  by  the  Editor 
of  the  Biglow  Papers.  Price  one  shilling."  The  cover  is  illustrated 
with  a  picture  of  a  street  musician  playing  several  instruments 
at  the  same  time,  and  across  the  picture  is  a  slip  marked  with  a  red 
seal  containing  the  letter  "  W"  and  reading,  "The  Author's  Edition, 
with  Extra  Sketches,"  and  a  facsimile  of  the  "A.  Ward"  signature. 

Artemus  Ward  (His  Travels)  Among  the  Mormons.  Part  I — On 
the  Rampage.  Part  II— Perlite  Litteratoor.  Edited  by  E.  P. 
Kingston,  the  Companion  and  Agent  of  Artemus  Ward  whilst  "On 
the  Rampage."  12mo,  xxx-192  pp.  London:  John  Camden 
Hotten,  Piccadilly.  1865. 

Issued  also  under  the  same  date  without  illustrations  except 
frontispiece.  Same  size  and  number  of  pages. 

Artemus  Ward  (His  Travels)  Among  the  Mormons.  Part  I — 
On  the  Rampage.  Part  II— Perlite  Litteratoor.  Edited  by  E. 
P.  Kingston,  the  Companion  and  Agent  of  Artemus  Ward  whilst 

[322]- 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

"On  the  Rampage."  12mo,  xxx-192  pp.  London:  Ward,  Lock 
&  Co.,  Warwick  House,  Dorset  Buildings,  Salisbury  Square,  E.  C. 
N.D. 

Pictorial  covers.     Colored. 

Author's  Edition.  Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  With  Notes  and 
a  Preface  by  the  Editor  of  the  Biglow  Papers.  Comprising  the 
whole  of  the  original  work,  with  additional  chapters  and-  extra 
sketches,  now  printed  for  the  first  time.  12mo,  210  pp.  London : 
John  Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly.  1865. 

The  last  sketch  in  the  volume,  "Mr.  Ward  Attends  a  Graffick," 
is  spurious. 

"Artemus  Ward."  Chambers' 's  Journal,  Voi.  42,  p.  367.  Edin 
burgh.  1865. 

Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Fenians.  With  the  Showman's  Ob 
servations  upon  Life  in  Washington  and  Military  Ardour  in  Bald- 
winsville.  16mo,  56  pp.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten,  Pic 
cadilly.  N.  D.  (1866). 

Warne's  Christmas  Annual.  "The  Five  Alls."  A  Collection  of 
Stories.  With  numerous  illustrations.  Edited  by  Tom  Hood.  8vo, 
96  pp.  London:  Frederick  Warne  &  Co.,  Bedford  Street,  Covent 
Garden.  New  York:  Scribner  &  Co.  N.  D.  (1866). 

"Pyrotechny."  By  Charles  F.  Browne  (Artemus  Ward).  Pp. 
34-35. 

Artemus  Ward.  Grate  Snaix.  Only  25  cents.  His  Book.  Comic 
illustrations  by  Mullen.  Reprinted  from  the  American  Copy 
righted  Edition.  8vo,  70  pp.  Montreal:  Richard  Worthington, 
Great  Street.  St.  James  Street.  Printed  by  John  Lovell.  1866. 
Pictorial  cover. 

"Yankee  Humor."  The  Quarterly  Review,  Vol.  122,  p.  224. 
London,  1866.  Reproduced  in  LitteWs  Living  Age.  Boston, 
March  16,  1866. 

"Artemus  Ward  in  London."  Every  Saturday,  Vol.  2,  p.  765. 
London,  1866. 

"Artemus  Ward."    Every  Saturday,  Vol.  3,  p.  457.    London,  1867. 

Robert  Heller,  His  Doings.  12mo,  64  pp.  Glasgow:  Printed  by 
Hay  Nisbet,  219  George  Street.  N.  D. 

Contains:  "An  Oad.  Artemus  Ward  to  Robert  Heller.  Com 
menced  May  First  1864;  Finished  1866." 

Attributed  to  Mr.  Browne,  but  does  not  read  as  if  it  were  his 
work.  Heller  was  a  famous  "magician"  and  Dr.  E.  P.  Kingston 
was  at  one  time  his  manager.  The  little  book  contains  a  number 
of  references  to  "Artemus." 

[323] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

"Artemus  Ward's  D£but."  The  Queen,  London,  November  17 
1866. 

"Mr.  Artemus  Ward  at  the  Egyptian  Hall."  The  Observer, 
London,  November  18,  1866. 

"'Artemus  Ward'  at  the  Egyptian  Gallery."  Reynolds's  News 
paper,  November  18,  1866. 

"Artemus  Ward  at  the  Egyptian  Hall."  Lloyd's  Weekly,  Lon 
don,  November  19,  1866. 

"Artemus  Ward."     The  Spectator.     London,  November  24,  1866. 

"Artemus  Ward's  Lecture."  The  Weekly  Budget,  London,' 
November  24,  1866 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  LONDON  "  PUNCH."   VOL.  LI.   JULY  7  TO 
DECEMBER  20,  1866 

"Arrival  in  London."     P.  95,  September  1. 

"Personal  Recollections."     P.  101,  September  8. 

"The  Greenlion  and  Oliver  Cromwell."     P.  115,  September  15. 

"At  the  Tomb  of  Shakespeare."     P.  135,  September  29. 

"Is  Introduced  at  the  Club."     P.  145,  October  6. 

"The  Tower  of  London."     P.  155,  October  13. 

"Science  and  Natural  History."     P.  165,  October  20. 

"A  Visit  to  the  British  Museum."    P.  185,  November  3. 

"A  Ward  That  Deserves  Watching."    Punch, p. 228, December  1. 

This  last  item  is  a  very  unusual  tribute  advising  London  to  hear 
Artemus  "speak  his  piece"  at  the  Egyptian  Hall.  All  the  articles 
appeared  under  the  same  title:  "Artemus  Ward  in  London." 
I  list  them  under  the  headings  given  when  they  took  book  form. 

OBITUARY    NOTICES 

"Funeral  of  Artemus  Ward  (Mr.  Charles  F.  Browne)."  The 
Observer,  London,  March  10,  1867. 

Weekly  Budget,  London,  March  16, 1867. 

The  Atlas  for  India,  London,  March  16,  1867. 

"Artemus  Ward."  Poem  by  James  Rhoades,  The  Spectator, 
London,  March  16,  1867.  (Often  incorrectly  attributed  to  Alger 
non  Charles  Swinburne.) 

"Humor  and  Faith."     The  Spectator,  London,  March  16,  1867. 

Ariemus  Ward  in  London.  Comprising  the  letters  to  Punch  and 
other  Humorous  Papers.  Small  4to,  195  pp.  London:  John 
Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly.  N.  D. 

[324] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  cover  title  reads  "Artemus  Ward  in  London  and  the  Letters 
to  Punchy  with  other  Humorous  Papers,"  and  is  illustrated  with  an 
excellent  portrait  of  the  Author.  Red  lines  under  the  title  text. 

Issued  also  in  green  cloth  binding,  without  portrait.  London. 
N.D. 

Artemus  Ward  in  London,  and  Other  Papers.  With  comic  illus 
trations  by  J.  H.  Howard.  Frontispiece.  12mo,  229  pp.  New 
York:  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers.  London:  S.  Low,  Son 
&  Co.  1867. 

Published  July  13,  1867. 

Yankee  Drolleries.  The  Most  Celebrated  Works  of  the  Best 
American  Humorists.  Artemus  Ward,  His  Book;  Major  Jack 
Downing,  The  Nasby  Papers.  Orpheus  C.  Kerr  Papers.  The 
Biglow  Papers.  With  introduction  by  George  Augustus  Sala. 
8vo,  pp.  96-100-88-127-96.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten, 
Piccadilly.  N.  D. 

"Artemus  Ward;  His  Book,"  pp.  9-96. 

M ore  Yankee  Drolleries.  A  Second  Series  of  Celebrated  Works  by 
the  Best  American  Humorists.  Artemus  Ward's  Travels.  Hans 
Breitmann.  Professor  at  the  Breakfast-Table.  Biglow  Papers, 
Part  II.  Josh  Billings.  With  an  Introduction  by  George  Augustus 
Sala.  8vo,  pp.  121-96-198-96-96.  London:  John  Camden  Hot- 
ten,  Piccadilly.  George  Robertson,  Melbourne.  N.  D. 

A  Third  Supply  of  Yankee  Drolleries.  The  most  Recent  WTorks 
of  the  Best  American  Humorists.  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table. 
Mark  Twain.  Artemus  Ward.  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp.  Inno 
cents  Abroad.  With  an  Introduction  by  George  Augustus  Sala. 
8vo,  pp.  183-101-32-122-256.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten, 
Piccadilly.  George  Robertson,  Melbourne.  N.  D. 

"Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Fenians,"  pp.  5-32. 

These  three  volumes  were  issued  uniformly  in  series  by  Hotten 
with  the  pagination  left  as  it  appeared  in  the  original  books,  as 
made  up  from  the  plates  of  his  reprints  of  the  several  authors. 

The  Savage  Club  Papers.  Edited  by  Andrew  Halliday.  Illus 
trated.  8vo,  341  pp.  London:  Tinsley  Brothers,  18  Catherine 
St.,  Strand.  1867. 

Contains  first  printing  of  Artemus  Ward's  "Converting  the 
Nigger,"  p.  103. 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Book.  With  Comic  Illustrations  by  Mullen. 
Reprinted  from  the  American  Copyright  Edition.  8vo,  70  pp. 
Montreal:  C.  R.  Chisholm,  Railway  and  Steamboat  News  Agent. 
N.D. 

23  [325] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Artemus  Ward;  His  Travels.  Part  I — Miscellaneous.  Part  II 
— Among  the  Mormons.  With  comic  illustrations  by  Mullen. 
Reprinted  from  the  American  Copyright  Edition.  8vo,  94  pp. 
Montreal  (sic}:  C.  R.  Chisholm,  Railway  and  Steamboat  Agent. 
N.D. 

Artemus  Ward  in  London.  8vo.  Montreal:  C.  R.  Chisholm, 
Railway  and  Steamboat  Agent.  1868. 

The  titles  of  the  three  above  items  are  made  up  of  the  cuts  from 
the  engraved  titles  of  the  Carleton  editions,  with  the  type  matter 
added.  Very  rare.  But  one  copy  of  each  has  been  noted  as 
catalogued  for  sale  in  ten  years  of  res'earch.  The  matter  is  set  in 
double-column  measure. 

Artemus  Ward's  Lecture  (As  delivered  at  the  Egyptian  Hall, 
London).  Edited  by  his  executors,  T.  W.  Robertson  &  E.  P. 
Kingston.  With  numerous  illustrations  from  the  Panorama. 
Square  12mo,  214  pp.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly. 
New  York :  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Broadway.  1869. 

Frontispiece  reproduces  Geflowski's  bust  of  the  Humorist. 
Published  June  26,  1869. 

Sandwiches.  By  A.  Ward.  Illustrated.  4to,  36  pp.  Pictorial 
covers.  New  York :  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.  1869. 

The  Savage  Club  Papers.  Second  Series.  Edited  by  Andrew 
Halliday.  12mo,352pp.  Illustrated.  London:  Tinsley  Brothers, 
18  Catherine  St.,  Strand.  1869. 

"Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Shoshones."  By  Edward  P.  King 
ston.  Pp.  141-161. 

The  Genial  Showman.  Being  Reminiscences  of  the  Life  of 
Artemus  Ward  and  Pictures  of  a  Showman's  Career  in  the  Western 
World.  By  Edward  P.  Kingston.  In  two  volumes.  12mo,  xii- 
363;  395  pp.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten,  Piccadilly.  N.  D. 
(1870.) 

Each  volume  has  a  frontispiece,  drawn  on  wood  by  William 
Brunton,  and  hand  colored.  That  in  Vol.  I  depicts  the  "Genial 
Showman"  at  home;  in  Vol.  II  the  parade  of  his  Irish  "Indians" 
on  Broadway,  New  York,  with  Kingston  and  A.  W.  in  the  fore 
ground. 

"The  Genial  Showman."  Review  by  Bret  Harte.  Current 
Literature,  October,  1870. 

MSS.  now  owned  by  Charles  H.  Taylor,  Jr.,  of  the  Boston  Globe. 

The  Genial  Showman.  Being  Reminiscences  of  the  Life  of  Arte 
mus  Ward  and  Pictures  of  a  Showman's  Career  in  the  Western 
World.  By  Edward  P.  Kingston.  New  illustrated  edition,  com- 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

plete  in  one  volume.  12mo,  x-519  pp.  London:  John  Camden 
Hotten.  N.  D 

This  edition  used  Brunton's  "Showman  at  Home,"  in  colors,  as 
frontispiece,  and  repeats  the  parade  in  the  text.  It  is  further 
embellished  with  replicas  of  the  Panorama  pictures  and  several 
excellent  sketches  made  at  the  Chinese  Theater  in  San  Francisco, 
described  as  "found  in  Artemus  Ward's  portfolio" — evidently  draw 
ings  made  by  some  local  artist  for  possible  use  in  his  proposed  book. 

The  Complete  Works  of  Charles  F.  Browne,  better  known  as  "  Arte 
mus  Ward."  With  Portrait  by  Geflowski,  the  Sculptor,  facsimile 
of  Handwriting,  etc.  8vo,  xi-518  pp.  London:  John  Camden 
Hotten,  74  and  75  Piccadilly.  N.  D 

Includes  "Artemus  Ward  as  a  Lecturer,"  by  Dr.  E.  P.  Kingston, 
together  with  many  notes  designed  to  "elucidate"  for  the  English 
reader,  and  a  considerable  number  of  local  sketches  reproduced 
from  the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer.  Reissued  frequently  under  the 
imprint  of  "Chatto  &  Windus."  The  pagination  starts  at  p.  26. 

The  Genial  Showman.  Being  Reminiscences  of  Artemus  Ward 
and  Pictures  of  a  Showman's  Career  in  the  Western  World.  By 
Edward  P.  Kingston.  Illustrations  bound  in  before  title-page. 
8vo,  155  pp.  New  York:  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers.  1870. 

Paper  reprint  of  the  London  edition,  with  imprint  of  American 
News  Company  on  cover.  Title-page  carries  these  quotations: 
"Sweet  Speeches,  Comedies,  and  Pleasing  Shows,"  Christopher 
Marlowe.  "'How  'bout  my  cabinet,  Mister  Ward?'"  said  Abe. 
"'Fill  it  up  with  Showmen,  Sir.'"  Artemus  Ward:  Interview  with 
President  Lincoln. 

"Traveling  with  Artemus  Ward."  By  Melville  D.  Landon  (Eli 
Perkins).  The  Galaxy,  pp.  442-445.  New  York,  September,  1871. 

"Les  Humoristes  Ame*ricains."  II.  Josh  Billings,  Artemus 
Ward,  Hans  Breitmann.  Par  Th.  Bentzon.  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  pp.  837;  862.  Paris,  August  15,  1872. 

The  first  of  Mme.  Bentzon's  articles,  appearing  in  the  Revue  of 
July  15th,  is  devoted  to  Mark  Twain,  and  includes  that  translation 
of  "The  Jumping  Frog"  which  he  later  restored  to  English  with 
such  appalling  results.  The  Artemus  Ward  article  turns  "Artemus 
Ward  on  the  Shakers"  into  French  with  equally  heartrending  effect. 

The  Buyers'  Manual  and  Business  Guide;  Being  a  Description 
of  the  Leading  Business  Houses,  Manufactories,  Inventions,  Etc., 
of  the  Pacific  Coast,  together  with  Copious  and  Readable  Selections, 
chiefly  from  California  Writers.  Compiled  by  J.  Price  and  C.  S. 
Haley.  8vo,  viii-192  pp.  San  Francisco:  Francis  &  Valentine, 

[327] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Steam  Book  and  Job  Printing  Establishment,  No.  517  Clay  Street, 
and  510  to  516  Commercial  Street.     1872. 

Contains  "Mark  Twain's  First  Interview  with  Artemus  Ward." 

Choice  Bits  from  Mark  Twain.  16mo,  192  pp.  London:  Diprose 
&Bateman.  N.  D.  (1872.) 

"First  Interview  with  Artemus  Ward." 

Public  and  Parlor  Readings.  Prose  and  Poetry  for  the  Use  of 
Reading  Clubs  and  for  Public  and  Social  Entertainments.  Humor 
ous.  Edited  by  Lewis  B.  Monroe.  12mo.  Boston:  Lee  & 
Shepard.  1872. 

Includes  Mark  Twain's  "First  Interview  with  Artemus  Ward," 
credited  to  "S.  J.  Clemens." 

Practical  Jokes  with  Artemus  Ward.  Including  the  Story  of  the 
Man  Who  Fought  Cats.  By  Mark  Twain  and  Other  Humorists. 
16mo,  xvi-176  pp.  London:  John  Camden  Hotten,  74  Picca 
dilly.  All  Rights  Reserved.  N.  D.  (1872.) 

Letters  to  Punch.  Among  the  Witches  and  other  Humorous 
Papers.  By  Artemus  Ward.  16mo,  195  pp.  London:  John. 
Camden  Hotten,  74  &  75  Piccadilly.  N.  D.  (1872.) 

Pictorial  covers. 

Journalism  in  the  United  States,  from  1690  to  1872.  By  Frederic 
Hudson.  8vo,  789  pp.  New  York:  Harper  &  Brothers,  Pub 
lishers,  Franklin  Square.  1873. 

Artemus  Ward,  Chapter  LXIV,  pp.  688-696. 

Artemus  Ward:  His  Works.  Complete.  (Four  volumes  in 
one.)  With  fifty  Illustrations  and  a  Biographical  Sketch  by 
Melville  D.  Landon  ("Eli  Perkins").  12mo,  ix-347  pp.  New 
York:  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers.  London:  J.  C.  Hotten. 
MDCCCLXXVI. 

Copyright  1875. 

Mark  Twain  s  Sketches,  New  and  Old.  Now  first  published  in 
complete  form.  Sold  only  by  subscription.  8vo,  viii-320  pp. 
The  American  Publishing  Company.  Hartford,  Conn.,  and 
Chicago,  111.  1875. 

"First  Interview  with  Artemus  Ward,"  pp.  283-286. 

"Artemus  Wrard  at  Cleveland."  By  C.  C.  Ruthrauff.  Portrait, 
facsimile,  and  two  drawings  by  George  Hoyt.  Scribner's  Monthly, 
pp.  785-791,  New  York,  October,  1878. 

Sketches  by  Mark  Twain.  Now  First  Published  in  Complete 
Form.  12mo,  viii-319  pp.  Toronto:  Belfords,  Clarke  &  Co. 
MDCCCLXXIX. 

"First  Interview  with  Artemus  Ward,"  pp.  292-306. 

[328] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  H'istor.y  of  Waterford,  Oxford  County,  Maine.  Comprising 
Historical  address  by  Henry  P.  Warren;  Record  of  Families,  by 
Rev.  William  Warren,  D.D.;  Centennial  Proceedings  by  Samuel 
Warren,  Esq.  Published  by  Direction  of  the  Town.  8vo,  371  pp. 
Portland:  Hoyt,  Fogg  &  Donham.  1879. 

"Charles  F.  Browne,"  p.  199.  Brown  Genealogy,  p.  235; 
Farrar  Genealogy,  p.  246. 

"Artemus  Ward."  By  E.  S.  Nadal.  Scribner's  Monthly,  pp. 
144-159,  New  York,  November,  1880. 

The  Genial  Showman.  Reminiscences  of  the  Life  of  Artemus 
Ward  and  Pictures  of  a  Showman's  Career  in  the  Western  World. 
By  Edward  P.  Kingston.  A  New  Edition.  Frontispiece.  12mo, 
viii-519  pp.  London:  Chatto  &  Windus,  Piccadilly.  1881. 

The  Wanderer's  Library. 

"Artemus  Ward;  His  Home  and  Family."  By  Don  C.  Seitz. 
Illustrated  from  photographs;  drawings  by  Reginald  Birch. 
Scribner's  Magazine,  pp.  46-53,  New  York,  May,  1881. 

Artemus  Ward's  Lecture  on  the  Mormons.  Edited  with  a  Pref 
atory  Note  by  Edward  P.  Kingston.  With  32  illustrations.  16mo, 
64  pp.  London:  Chatto  &  Windus,  Piccadilly.  1882. 

Paper  covers,  with  portrait  on  first  leaf.  Printed  at  the  Ballen- 
tyne  Press. 

Men  and  Events  of  Half  a  Century.  By  Frederick  T.  Wallace. 
12mo,  363  pp.  Cleveland:  Evangelical  Association.  1882. 

Artemus  Ward  under  "Humor  and  Its  Uses,"  pp.  181-186. 

"Artemus  Ward."  By  H.  R.  Haweis.  Good  Words,  Vol.  23, 
pp.  174  and  266.  London.  1882. 

Famous  Funny  Fellows.  Brief  Biographical  Sketches  of  Ameri 
can  Humorists.  By  Will  M.  Clemens.  12mo,  214  pp.  Cleve 
land,  Ohio:  William  W.  Williams.  1882. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  24-33. 

Essays  at  Home  and  Elsewhere.  By  E.  S.  Nadal.  12mo,  281  pp. 
London:  Macmillan  &  Co.  1882. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  16-41. 

American  Humorists.  By  the  Rev.  H.  R.  Haweis,  M.A.  Author 
of  Music  and  Morals,  Thoughts  for  the  Times,  Current  Coin,  Arrows 
in  the  Air,  etc.  8vo,  208  pp.  and  1  p.  of  epilogue.  London:  Chatto 
&  Windus,  Piccadilly.  1883. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  135-162. 

Reminiscences  of  an  Old  Bohemian.  Senex  Loqum— Old  Age  Is 
Garrulous.  A  New  Edition.  8vo,  371  pp.  London:  Tinsley 
Brothers,  8  Catherine  St.,  Strand.  1883. 

[329] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Written  by  Dr.  G.  L.  M.  Strauss.     Artemus  Ward,  pp.  237-239. 

Amerikanska  Humorister  (BUder  och  diJder  af  Artemus  Ward,  Bret 
Harte,  etc.,  etc.).  12mo,  220  pp.  Stockholm:  Selegman  &  Co. 
1883. 

Famous  Funny  Fellows;  Brief  Biographical  Sketches  of  American 
Humorists.  By  Will  M.  Clemens.  12mo,  214  pp.  New  York: 
John  W.  Lovell  Company,  1883.  No.  291,  Vol.  5,  Lovell's  Library. 
Artemus  Ward,  pp.  24-33. 

"Artemas  [sic]  Ward."  By  H.  R.  Haweis.  The  Elzevir  Library, 
a  semi-weekly  Magazine.  16mo,  26  pp.  John  B.  Alden,  Publisher. 
New  York:  March  2,  1883. 

Bill  Arp's  Scrap  Book;  Humor  and  Philosophy.  Letters  "  Pen- 
den  te  lite,"  Letters  Historic,  Domestic  and  Pictorial,  with  some 
true  stories  added.  Illustrated  by  Moser. 

"If  it  pleases  you,  then  I  am  happy, 
If  it  does  not,  it  is  all  my  fault; 
And  you  are  much  of  a  gentleman." 

By   Uncle  Toby.     8vo,   v-405   pp.     Atlanta,    Georgia:    Jas.   P. 
Harrison  &  Co.,  Publishers,  Printers  and  Engravers,  1884. 
"Bill  Arp's  Letter  to  Artemus  Ward,"  pp.  56-63. 
Fifty    Years   Among   Authors,     Books   and   Publishers.     J.   C. 
Derby. 

"...  All  of  which  I  saw 
And  part  of  which  I  was." 

4to,  739  pp.  New  York:  Copyright,  1884,  by  G.  W.  Carleton  & 
Co.,  Publishers.  London:  S.  Low,  Son  &  Co.  MDCCCLXXXIV. 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  242. 

Phunny  Phellows.  Mark  Twain,  Josh  Billings,  Robert  J.  Bur- 
dette,  Artemus  Ward  and  Others.  12mo,  iv-414  pp.  Chicago: 
Rhodes  &  McClure.  1885. 

Centennial  History  of  Norway,  Oxford  County,  Maine.  1786-1886. 
Including  an  account  of  the  early  Grants  and  Purchases,  Sketches 
of  the  Grantees,  Early  Settlers,  and  Prominent  Residents,  etc., 
with  Genealogical  Registers  and  an  Appendix.  By  William  Berry 
Lapham. 

"The  hills  are  ever  dearest  which  our  childish  feet 
Have  climbed  the  earliest,  and  the  streams  most  sweet 
Axe  ever  those  at  which  our  young  lips  drink — 
Stooped  to  their  waters  o'er  the  grassy  brink." 

— Whittier. 
[330] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Imp.  8vo,  xvi-659  pp.     Portland,  Maine:  Brown,  Thurston  &  Co., 
Publishers.     1886. 

"Artemus  Ward's  Home."  By  Don  C.  Seitz.  The  Sun,  New 
York,  October  14,  1887. 

Humorous  Masterpieces  from  American  Literature.  Edited  by 
Edward  T.  Mason.  (Second  Volume.)  12mo,  iv-294  pp.  New 
York  and  London:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  &  The  Knickerbocker 
Press,  1887. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  153-167. 

"Artemus  Ward."  By  C.  J.  H.  Northcroft.  Time,  Vol.  18, 
No.  452.  London,  1888. 

Reprinted  in  LitteWs  Living  Age,  Vol.  177,  p.  301.     Boston,  1888. 

"Artemus  Ward  as  Printer's  Devil."  By  Don  C.  Seitz.  The 
Sun,  New  York,  September  15,  1889. 

Half-Hours  with  Humorous  Writers.  Selected  and  arranged  by 
Charles  Morris.  American.  Two  Vols.  Cr.  8vo,  512;  511  pp. 
Philadelphia:  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  1889. 

"Anecdote  of  Artemus  Ward,"  by  Mark  Twain,  Vol.  1,  pp.  472-3; 
"Essay  on  Animals,"  Vol.  2,  pp.  29-33;  "A  Mormon  Romance," 
pp.  33-38. 

"Personal  Recollections  of  Artemus  Ward."  By  George  Hoyt. 
The  Weekly  Graphic.  New  York,  Saturday,  March  23,  1889. 

"How  Artemus  Ward  Became  Lecturer."  By  J.  W.  Watson. 
In  "Notes  and  Comments."  The  North  American  Review,  pp. 
521-522.  New  York,  April,  1889. 

Wise,  Witty,  Eloquent  Kings  of  the  Platform  and  Pulpit.  By 
Melville  D.  Landon.  Biographies,  Reminiscences  and  Lectures 
of  Artemus  Ward,  Mark  Twain,  Nasby,  Josh  Billings,  Bill  Nye, 
Sam  Cox,  Robert  Burdette,  Mrs.  Partington,  Danbury  News  Man, 
Fat  Contributor,  Eli  Perkins,  Bill  Arp,  George  W.  Peck,  Doesticks, 
Bret  Harte,  Geo.  W.  Cable,  and  the  Master  Lectures  of  T.  De  Witt 
Talmage,  Chauncey  M.  Depew,  Wendell  Phillips,  Jos.  Cook,  Max 
O'Rell,  Dwight  L.  Moody,  Robert  G.  Ingersoll,  Chas.  H.  Spurgeon, 
Eugene  Field,  Joseph  Parker,  Sam  Jones,  John  B.  Gough,  Ben 
Butler,  Horace  Greeley,  Robt.  Collyer,  and  Personal  Reminiscences 
and  Anecdotes  of  Noted  Americans.  Profusely  illustrated.  8vo, 
ix-570  pp.  Chicago:  F.  C.  Smedley  &  Co.,  Publishers,  1890. 

Includes  Bill  Arp's  "Letter  to  Artemus  Ward." 

"The  Real  Artemus  Ward."  By  Enoch  Knight.  Overland 
Monthly,  Vol.  18,  p.  54.  San  Francisco:  1891. 

Born  1834,  Married  1835,  "Artemus  Ward's"  Alleged  Widow 
Claims  His  Estate,  The  World,  New  York,  April  9,  1891. 

[331] 


ARTEMTJS    WARD 

Not  Their  "Artemus."  The  World,  New  York,  April  10, 
1891. 

The  Farm  and  Fireside:  Sketches  of  Domestic  Life  in  War  and 
Peace.  Written  and  Published  for  the  Entertainment  of  the  Good 
People  at  Home,  and  Dedicated  especially  to  Mothers  and  Children. 
By  Chas.  H.  Smith  (Bill  Arp).  8vo,  vii-345  pp.  Atlanta,  Georgia: 
The  Constitution  Publishing  Company.  1891. 

"Bill  Arp  Addresses  Artemus  Ward,"  pp.  43-45. 

Memoirs.  By  Charles  Godfrey  Leland  (Hans  Breitmann).  In 
two  volumes.  8vo,  xiii-307;  306  pp.  London:  William  Heine- 
mann.  1893.  (All  rights  reserved.) 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  19-21,  Vol.  II. 

Memoirs.  By  Charles  Godfrey  Leland.  (Hans  Breitmann). 
8vo,  439pp.  New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Company.  1893. 

Artemus  Wrard  and  Vanity  Fair,  pp.  235-236. 

The  Library  of  Wit  and  Humor.  Prose  and  Poetry.  Selected 
from  the  Literature  of  all  Time  and  all  Nations.  Edited  with 
Biographies  and  Critical  Notes  by  A.  R.  Spofford,  Librarian  of 
Congress,  Washington,  D.  C.,  and  Rufus  E.  Shapley,  Author  of  Solid 
for  Mulhooly.  Illustrated  with  Fifty  Choice  Etchings  engraved 
especially  for  this  work.  Volume  V,  viii-611  pp.  Philadelphia: 
Gebbie  &  Co.,  Publishers.  1893. 

Reproduces  "Moses,  the  Sassy,"  "A  Visit  to  Brigham  Young," 
"A  Mormon  Romance,"  and  "The  Showman's  Courtship,"  by 
Artemus  Ward. 

"Artemus  Ward  in  Nevada."  By  Dan  De  Quille  (William 
Wright).  California  Illustrated  Magazine,  pp.  403-406.  San 
Francisco,  August,  1893. 

"Relics  of  Artemus  Ward."  By  Don  C.  Seitz.  Portrait  of 
Charles  F.  Browne  at  twenty,  and  facsimile.  The  Century  Maga 
zine,  pp.  132-135.  New  York,  May,  1893. 

Wit  and  Humor  of  the  Age:  Comprising  Wit,  Humor,  Pathos, 
Ridicule,  Satires,  Dialects,  Puns,  Conundrums,  Riddles,  Charades, 
Jokes  and  Magic.  By  Mark  Twain,  Josh  Billings,  Robert  J.  Bur- 
dette,  Alex.  Sweet,  Eli  Perkins,  With  the  Philosophy  of  Wit  and 
Humor.  By  Melville  D.  Landon,  A.  M.  Illustrated.  8vo,  776  pp. 
Chicago:  Star  Publishing  Co.  1894. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  46,  112,  124,  692.     Portrait  opp.  p.  270. 

"First  Impressions  of  Literary  New  York."  By  William  Dean 
Howells.  Harper's  Magazine,  pp.  62-74.  New  York,  July,  1895. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  68  and  71. 

"Some  Reproductions  of  Artemus  Ward.     With  Reminiscences 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

of  His  Earlier  Life  in  Cleveland,  Ohio."  The  Sun,  New  York, 
March  22, 1896. 

"Artemus  Ward.  Reminiscences  of  His  Life  in  Cleveland." 
The  Sun,  New  York,  April  5,  1896. 

The  Complete  Works  of  Artemus  Ward  (Charles  F.  Browne).  A 
New  Edition  with  portrait  by  Geflowski  and  a  facsimile.  Crown 
8vo,  66-518  pp.  London:  Chatto  &  Windus.  1898. 

The  Complete  Works  of  Artemus  Ward  (Charles  Farrar  Browne). 
With  a  Biographical  Sketch  by  Melville  D.  Landon  (Eli  Perkins), 
and  Many  Humorous  Illustrations.  Revised.  Edited.  12mo, 
x-449  pp.  New  York.  G.  W.  Dillingham  Company.  1898. 

"Artemus  Ward's  Writings."  By  Joel  Benton.  The  New  York 
Times  Review  of  Books  and  Art.  New  York,  Saturday,  October  1, 
1898. 

Review  of  above. 

"Artemus  Ward's  Humor."  The  Sun,  New  York,  September 
17, 1899. 

"The  First  Books  of  Some  American  Authors."  By  Luther  S. 
Livingston.  The  Bookman,  Vol.  8,  p.  563,  New  York,  1899. 

"Artemus  Ward  as  a  Journalist."  The  Morning  Telegraph,  New 
York,  May  14,  1899. 

Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance.  A  Personal  Retrospect  of 
American  Authorship.  By  W.  D.  Howells.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
viii-(l)-287-(l)  pp.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers,  New  York 
and  London.  1900. 

Portrait  of  Artemus  Ward  opp.  p.  68.     Reference  p.  80. 

Letters  of  Artjmus  Ward  to  Charles  E.  Wilson.  1858-1864. 
12mo,  86  pp.  Cleveland:  The  Rowfant  Club.  MCM. 

"Maine  in  Literature."  By  William  I.  Cole.  The  New  England 
Magazine,  New  Series,  Vol.  22,  p.  726.  Boston,  August,  1900. 

"A  Year  of  American  Humor."  The  Century  Magazine,  Vol. 
LXIII.  No.  1.  New  York,  November,  1901. 

"A  Retrospect  of  American  Humor,"  by  W.  P.  Trent,  pp.  45-64; 
"Recollections  of  Artemus  Ward,"  by  James  F.  Ryder,  pp.  151-155. 

New  York:  Old  and  New.  Its  Story,  Streets,  and  Landmarks. 
By  Rufus  Rockwell  Wilson,  Author  of  "Washington:  The  Capital 
City,"  "Rambles  in  Colonial  By- Ways,"  etc.  With  many  illus 
trations  from  Prints  and  Photographs  and  with  Decorations  by 
Edward  Stratton  Holloway.  Vol.  II,  8vo,  390  pp.  Philadelphia 
&  London:  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company.  1902. 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  141. 

A  Comic  History  of  Cleveland;  or,  from  Moses  to  Tom.  8vo,  pp. 

[333] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

n.n.     Published   by   The   Students'    Hospital   Committee,   Case- 
Reserve.     1902. 

"Artemus  Ward  at  Springfield,  Massachusetts."  By  Charles  J. 
Woodbury.  The  Century  Magazine,  pp.  636-637,  New  York, 
February,  1902. 

Voigtlander  and  I  in  Pursuit  of  Shadow  Catching.  A  Story  of 
Fifty-two  Years*  Companionship  with  a  Camera.  By  James  F. 
Ryder.  Frontispiece,  Portrait  and  Illustrations.  8vo,  251  pp. 
Cleveland,  Ohio.  The  Cleveland  Printing  and  Publishing  Co. 
The  Imperial  Press.  1902. 

Interesting  recollections  of  "Artemus  Ward"  in  Chapter  XXI, 
pp.  174-207.  Two  portraits  and  picture  of  birthplace,  Waterford, 
Maine,  with  several  letters  in  facsimile.  Mr.  Ryder  was  an  inti 
mate  friend  of  the  humorist. 

My  Own  Story.  With  Recollections  of  Noted  Persons.  By  John 
Townsend  Trowbridge.  Illustrated.  Ne  cede  Malis — Heraldic 
motto.  8vo,  vii-(2)-482  pp.  Boston  and  New  York:  Houghton, 
Mifflin  Company.  The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge.  1903. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  181-182. 

Autobiography.  Memories  and  Experiences  of  Moncure  Daniel 
Conway.  In  two  volumes.  8vo,  xiv-451;  x-482  pp.  Boston 
and  New  York:  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company.  The  Riverside 
Press,  Cambridge.  1904. 

Artemus  Ward's  Funeral,  p.  139,  Vol.  II. 

"The  Passing  of  the  Egyptian  Hall."  London  Graphic,  Decem 
ber  14, 1904. 

Portrait  of  "Artemus  Ward." 

"Artemus  Ward.  An  Old  Friend.  Reminiscences  of  the  Great 
American  Humorist."  New  York  Times,  May  4,  1905. 

The  Breitmann  Ballads.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  A  New  Edition. 
12mo,  317  pp.  London:  Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  Trubner  &  Co., 
Ltd.,  Dryden  House,  Gerrard  Street,  W.  1906 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  251. 

"To  Artemus  Ward  in  Elysium."  By  Harry  Lyman  Koopman. 
Pine  Tree  Magazine,  Vol.  6,  p.  241.  1906. 

History  of  the  United  States  from  the  Compromise  of  1850  to  the 
Final  Restoration  of  Home  Rule  at  the  South  in  1877.  By  James 
Ford  Rhodes,  LL.D.,  Litt.D.  Member  of  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society.  Vol.  III.  1860-1862.  8vo,  x-659  pp.  New 
York:  The  Macmillan  Company.  London:  Macmillan  &  Co., 
Ltd.  1906.  All  rights  reserved. 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  109-110. 

[334] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Mark  Twain's  Library  of  Humor.  Men  and  Things.  Illus 
trated.  8vo,  vii-304  pp.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers,  New 
York  and  London.  MCMVI. 

One  of  Mr.  Ward's  Business  Letters,  pp.  121-122. 

Mark  Twain's  Library  of  Humor.  A  Little  Nonsense.  Illus 
trated.  8vo,  vii-303  pp.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers,  New 
York  and  London.  MCMVI. 

"A  Visit  to  Brigham  Young,"  pp.  161-167. 

A  Pocket  Book  of  the  Early  American  Humorists.  Selections 
from  the  best  writings  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  Joseph  C.  Neal, 
Major  Jack  Downing,  Mrs.  Partington,  Augustus  B.  Longstreet, 
John  Phoenix,  Orpheus  C.  Kerr,  Artemus  Ward,  Bill  Arp,  and 
others.  8vo,  211  pp.  Boston:  Small,  Maynard  &  Co.  1907. 

"Mid-Century  Humorists."  Springfield  (Mass.)  Republican, 
September  9,  1907. 

Pages  from  an  Adventurous  Life.  By  "Dick  Donovan"  (J.  E. 
Preston  Muddock).  With  thirty -one  illustrations.  Portrait 
Frontispiece.  8vo,  352  pp.  London:  T.  Werner  Laurie,  Clif 
ford's  Inn.  N.D.  (1907.) 

Artemus  Ward  references,  pp.  93-100,  106,  160,  171-179. 

"Charles  F.  Browne  (Artemus  Ward).  The  Tribute  of  a  Friend 
and  Fellow-Townsman."  By  Enoch  Knight.  Putnam's  Monthly, 
pp.  599-600.  New  York,  February,  1907. 

"On  the  Death  of  Artemus  Ward."  Letter  from  James  Rhoades, 
giving  correct  version  of  his  poem  by  that  title.  Putnam's  Monthly, 
p.  206.  New  York,  May,  1907. 

The  Savage  Club.  A  Medley  of  History,  Anecdote,  and  Reminis 
cence.  By  Aaron  Watson.  With  a  Chapter  by  Mark  Twain.  8vo, 
xii-327  pp.  London:  T.  Fisher  Unwin,  Adelphi  Terrace.  1907. 

Artemus  Ward:  pp.  76,  119,  120,  121-124,  126,  239.  Repro 
duces  in  colors  the  portrait  drawn  from  life  by  Walter  Dubisson, 
now  in  possession  of  the  Savage  Club,  Adelphi  Terrace,  London. 

American  Wit  and  Humor.  By  One  Hundred  of  America's  Lead 
ing  Humorists.  Introduction  by  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  Including 
World's  Famous  Cartoons  and  Caricatures.  4  vols.,  12mo,  289,  290, 
291,  340  pp.  New  York:  The  Review  of  Reviews  Co.  1907. 

Vol.  I.    Artemus  Ward  to  Bret  Harte. 

With  the  Border  Ruffians.  Memories  of  the  Far  West.  1852-68. 
By  R.  H.  Williams,  sometime  Lieutenant  in  the  Kansas  Rangers 
and  afterward  Captain  in  the  Texas  Rangers.  Edited  by  E.  W. 
Williams.  With  Portraits.  8vo,  xviii-478  pp.  New  York:  E.  P. 
Dutton  &  Company.  1907. 

[335] 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  78-79;  452-453. 

"  Maine  Stories  of  Artemus  Ward."  By  Charles  O.  Stickney. 
Lewiston,  Maine,  Journal  Magazine,  April  4,  1908. 

The  Life  of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich.  By  Ferris  Greenslet.  Royal 
8vo,  xi-303  pp.  Cambridge.  Printed  at  the  Riverside  Press. 
MDCCCVIIL 

Large  paper  edition  of  500  copies.  Artemus  Ward,  pp.  98-99. 
Letters  between  Mark  Twain  and  Aldrich. 

"Artemus  Ward  Relics."  By  Charles  O.  Stickney,  Portland, 
Maine,  Telegram,  December  5, 1909. 

Old  Friends.  Being  Literary  Recollections  of  Other  Days.  By 
William  Winter.  8vo,  407  pp.  Illustrated.  New  York:  Moffat, 
Yard  &  Co.  1909. 

"Artemus  Ward,"  pp.  89,  284  to  291. 

"Stories  of  Artemus  Ward."  Boston  Globe,  January  3,  4,  5,  6,  7, 
1910. 

"Artemus  Ward.  A  Unique  Portrait  of  the  Undeniable  Dean  of 
American  Humorists."  The  Sun,  New  York,  December  10,  1911. 

Mark  Twain:  A  Biography.  The  Personal  and  Literary  Life 
of  Samuel  Langhorne  Clemens.  By  Albert  Bigelow  Paine.  With 
Letters,  Comments,  and  Incidental  Writings  hitherto  unpublished; 
also  new  episodes,  anecdotes,  etc.  Three  volumes.  Fully  illus 
trated.  8vo,  xiii-(4)-562;  (vi-2)-563  to  1110;  (vi-2)-llll  to 
1718-(1)  pp.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers.  New  York  and 
London.  MCMXII. 

Artemus  Ward,  Vol.  I,  pp.  238-243;  443-444. 

Artemus  Ward's  Best  Stories.  Edited  by  Clifton  Johnson,  with 
an  Introduction  by  W.  D.  Howells.  Illustrated  by  Frank  A. 
Nankivell.  8vo,  275  pp.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers.  New 
York  and  London.  MCMXII. 

Fifty  Years  in  Theatrical  Management.  By  M.  B.  Leavitt, 
with  reproductions  of  over  500  photographs.  8vo,  xii-735  pp. 
New  York:  Broadway  Publishing  Co.  N.  D.  (1912.) 

Artemus  Ward,  pp.  239-240. 

Book  of  Old  New  York.  By  Henry  Collins  Brown.  The  rare  Old 
Prints  are  from  the  Private  collections  of  Mr.  Robert  Goelet,  Mr. 
Percy  R.  Pyne,  2d,  Mr.  J.  Pierpont  Morgan,  Mr.  Robert  W.  De 
Forest,  Mr.  A.  Van  Home  Stuyvesant,  Mr.  Wm.  F.  Havemeyer, 
Mr.  Simeon  Ford,  Mr.  J.  Clarence  Davies,  Mr.  Robert  E.  Dowling, 
Mr.  John  N.  Golding,  Mr.  John  D.  Crimmins,  Mr.  Henry  Morgan- 
thau,  and  others.  4to,  392  pp.  Privately  Printed  for  the  Sub 
scribers,  Fifteen  East  Fortieth  Street,  New  York.  1913. 

[336] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  83. 

Notes  on  the  History  of  Waterford,  Maine.  Edited  by  Thomas 
Hovey  Gage,  Jr.  12mo,  85  pp.  Worcester,  Massachusetts.  1913. 

Catalogue  of  the  First  and  Other  Editions  of  the  Writings  of  "Mark 
Twain"  (Samuel  Langhorne  Clemens]  and  of  Lafcadio  Hearn.  The 
Property  of  the  Tomlinson-Humes  Company  (in  Bankruptcy) 
and  of  Mr.  Merle  Johnson.  To  be  sold  at  unrestricted  Public  Sale 
on  January  Twentieth,  1914,  under  the  management  of  the  Ameri 
can  Art  Association,  American  Art  Galleries,  Madison  Square 
South.  8vo,  p.n.n.  (New  York,  1914.) 

Contains  Mark  Twain's  account  of  writing  "The  Jumping  Frog. 
Suggested  to  him  by  Artemus  Ward. 

Highways  and  Byways  of  New  England,  including  the  States  of 
Massachusetts,  New  Hampshire,  Rhode  Island,  Connecticut,  Ver 
mont  and  Maine.  Written  and  illustrated  by  Clifton  Johnson. 
12mo,  xi-299  pp.  New  York:  The  Macmillan  Company.  Lon 
don:  Macmillan  Co.  December,  1915. 

Humorous  American  Tales.  Edited  by  Charles  B.  Neville, 
Editor  of  Humorous  Readings  for  Home  and  Hall,  Humorous  Read 
ings  from  Charles  Dickens,  etc.,  etc.  Three  series  in  one.  8vo, 
viii-314  pp.  London:  Simpkin,  Marshall,  Hamilton,  Kent  &  Co. 
Glasgow :  Thomas  D.  Morison.  N.  D. 

Includes  Artemus  Ward,  "Among  the  Shakers." 

"Mark  Twain.     Some  Chapters  from  an  Extraordinary  Life." 
By  Albert  Bigelow  Paine.     Fifth  Paper.     Harper's  Magazine,  pp.        ^ 
583-597,  March,  1912. 

Describes  the  meeting   of  Twain  and  A.  W.  in  Virginia  City, 

Nevada. 

Picture  of  the  Artemus  Ward  Homestead.  Joe  Chappie  s  News 
Letter.  Boston,  May  26,  1912. 

"Back  to  Maine."  By  Joe  Mitchell  Chappie.  The  National 
Magazine,  pp.  127-149.  Boston,  October  1912. 

Includes  a  visit  to  Waterford. 

"Recollections  of  Artemus  Ward."  By  Clifton  Johnson.  The 
Overland  Monthly,  New  Series,  pp.  28-33.  San  Francisco,  January, 

"When  Artemus  Ward  Was  Here."  By  Walter  J.  Thompson. 
San  Francisco  Chronicle,  Sunday,  September  17,  1916. 

"Artemus  Ward,  Patriot."  The  Spectator,  pp.  154-155.  Lon 
don,  January  29, 1916. 

Republished  in  Littell's  Living  Age,  pp.  763-766,  Boston,  March 

18,  1916. 

[3371 


ARTEMUS    WARD 

Mark  Twain's  Letters.  Arranged  with  Comment.  By  Albert 
Bigelow  Paine.  Two  Volumes.  Illustrated.  8vo,  (6)-855-(l). 
Harper  &  Brothers,  Publishers.  New  York  and  London.  N.  D. 
(1917). 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  7;  letters,  pp.  93  (portrait),  95,  183. 

The  New  York  of  the  Novelists.  By  Arthur  Bartlett  Maurice. 
With  illustrations.  8vo,  xxii-366  pp.  New  York:  Dodd,  Mead 
&  Company.  1917. 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  123. 

"Doctor  Holmes,  the  Friend  and  Neighbor."  By  M.  A.  De  Wolfe 
Howe.  The  Yale  Review,  pp.  563-578.  New  Haven,  April,  1918. 

Artemus  Ward,  p.  565. 

"Looking  Backward."  By  Col.  Henry  Watterson.  The  Satur 
day  Evening  Post,  pp.  18-19  and  45.  Philadelphia,  March  22,  1919. 

Recollections  of  Artemus  Ward  in  London. 

"Was  Artemus  Ward  a  Humorous  [sic]  only  Professionally?" 
By  Julius  Chambers.  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle,  March  26,  1919. 

"Something  About  Artemus  Ward."  By  C.  E.  Waterman. 
The  Oxford  Democrat,  South  Paris,  Maine,  April  8,  1919. 

"Artemus  Ward,  Who  Taught  Americans  to  Laugh."  By  Albert 
Payson  Terhune.  The  Evening  World,  New  York,  May  20,  1919. 

LECTURES 

"Children  in  the  Wood." 

"Sixty  Minutes  in  Africa." 

"The  Ghosts." 

"Artemus  Ward  Among  the  Mormons." 

IMITATIONS 

Artemus  Ward  on  Wimmin's  Rites  4  a  Kollexshun  Box.  Every 
1  mai  pa,  but  nede  not  rede.  16mo,  printed  wrappers.  Bath: 
T.B.Tabb.  N.D. 

Betsey  Jane  Ward  (Better-half  to  Artemus}  Hur  Book  of  Goaks. 
With  a  Full  Akkownt  of  the  Coartship  and  Maridge  to  a  4  said 
Artemus,  and  Mister  Ward's  cutting-up  with  the  Mormon  Fare 
Seeks.  With  Pikturs  drawed  by  Mrs.  B.  Jane  Ward.  12mo,  312  pp. 
New  York:  James  O'Kane,  Publisher,  No.  126  Nassau  St.  1866. 

Written  by  William  Comstock,  described  by  Foley  as  "an 
obscure  writer  whose  contributions  figure  in  some  of  the  periodicals 
of  the  'fifties." 

[338] 


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